


Hot Nights in Houston

by AlmostSuperWhoFan, Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - Real World, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Complete, Date Night, Dean Has Nightmares, Dean in Panties, Edging, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, Fist Fights, Food Sex, Gay Bar, Jealousy, Kitchen Sex, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panties, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Skinny Dipping, Snowballing, Swesson, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Wincest - Freeform, beer pong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 80,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostSuperWhoFan/pseuds/AlmostSuperWhoFan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin/pseuds/Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts out as a steamy chance encounter between a sexy blue-collar window washer and a successful Deputy DA takes a startling turn when one man's past makes an unexpected reappearance. Will Sam and Dean's fledgling relationship be strong enough to grow into something deeper and more profound when the truth comes to light? Will the two be able to keep their hands off of each other long enough to even be bothered to care?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

The midafternoon sun beat down mercilessly on Dean Smith’s back as he ran the soapy brush over the window, corner to corner and then top to bottom. Thirty floors up and no breeze, Dean thought he was going to melt before he got to his last floor. He dropped the brush in the bucket, leaning the long handle against the railing of his suspended scaffold and then reached for the squeegee. He could feel the sweat dripping from his neck and down his back as he pressed the squeegee against the glass moving slowly from left to right from top to bottom, the water sloshing down to the next floor.

He looked at his reflection in the clean tinted glass and grimaced. His dirty blond hair was plastered to his head and his shirt was soaked at the underarms and the center of his chest where the buckle of his harness met. He was sure he had a matching wet spot across his back. He was not going to make it five more floors in this heat and he hoped the guys were enjoying their time in the shade. How he drew the west side of their afternoon building, _again_ , was a mystery. He was starting to think the straws were rigged.

After wiping his brow with a rag, he pushed on the control handle, moved down another floor and opened his water bottle. It wasn’t all that cold anymore, but as he reached the twenty-ninth floor and stopped the scaffold, he decided on a better use of the water. Unbuckling the chest portion of his harness and leaning back against the rail, he peeled his damp shirt from his overheated skin, bent at the waist and let the water trickle over his neck and muscular shoulders.

He yelped at the temperature difference and tossed his head back laughing. The instant cool pulled goosebumps from his skin and he ran a hand over his chest to wipe the excess away, his nipple a pebble against his palm. He tipped the bottle once more right over his head, the water cascading through this hair and down his face. Chuckling again and feeling refreshed, he shook his head like a wet dog before setting the bottle aside and refastening his harness. He’d put his shirt back on, but not until the next floor; his naked wet skin was so much more comfortable.

Sam Wesson stood beside his desk, a cup of forgotten coffee in his hand, staring slack-jawed at the ruggedly sexy man just outside his office window. He had been working at this law firm long enough to hardly pay any attention to the window washers that came by every six months anymore, but this one? Christ, just the first glimpse Sam had caught of him over his shoulder when he had pulled to a stop on his floor was enough to send all the blood rushing from his head straight down to his dick. And when the man on the scaffold outside, with hot summer sunlight sparking off the tips of his dusky hair and highlighting the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose and shoulders, pulled his shirt off and doused himself with half a bottle of water, Sam very nearly came in his slacks.

He cleared his throat, hooking a finger behind the knot of his tie to loosen the suddenly restrictive slip of fabric, then reached down to adjust the uncomfortable bulge growing in his boxers. Suddenly self-conscious that someone passing beside his office would see him in such an obvious state of arousal, Sam whipped his head to the door behind him and sighed when he saw that it was closed. He turned back to the window after setting his now cold coffee on his desk, deciding to indulge himself in the sight of the half-naked window washer before him a little longer. His coffee refill could wait.

The man reached up with his brush, spreading sudsy water across the window, utterly oblivious to anyone on the other side of the glass, and Sam groaned as the rigid muscles at the man’s side bunched and flexed with the movement. He moved closer to the window, helplessly drawn to the image before him, his hand, seemingly of its own accord, reaching down to the front of his trousers again to palm against his hardening cock.

After the man had coated the window in soap, he began to swipe the squeegee across it. His whole body seemed to tighten as he did so, each muscle moving in a steely ripple, his skin pinkening and glowing from the shimmering heat around him. It was suddenly far too much for Sam. He glanced back to the door, noting that it was still closed, and moved a little closer to the window, trying to undo his belt as quickly as possible. But his fingers, trembling and numb with excitement, fumbled the buckle and his hand slipped off, thumping loudly against the glass pane before him. He froze, immediately mortified.

The beautiful man on the scaffold too stood frozen for a moment before leaning his cupped face to the window to peer in at him. Sam took a reflexive step back and looked down to rebuckle his belt, but a responding knock pulled his eyes back to the window.

Dean was pointing at Sam and then himself in turns with one hand and making the universal “jerking off” motion with the other, asking. His eyes were sparkling, the color obscured by the tint but pale nonetheless, and he had a half smile pulling at his full lips. Sam was sure his eyes were betraying him and he flushed deep at being caught. Would a window washer really be okay with what Sam was about to do? Weren't they all beefy roughnecks like construction workers? Apparently not this one.

Sam hid his face behind his hands for a moment, sheepishly nodding, and then chuckled as Dean did a victory dance, his swaggering making the hanging scaffold wobble. He laughed again when, after a moment of panic, Dean grabbed the rail to save himself from tipping out.

Dean was stoked now. In the years that he’d worked construction and maintenance, he’d been oogled by many women but only a few men. The thought of a free show from that mountain of a man with shaggy hair and puppy eyes made him a bit delirious. He leaned in to make sure the man on the inside hadn’t walked away before gesturing again. This time he tried to ask if anyone was near them and, when he was sure that Sam was alone, he leaned against the window, his forearm now blocking the sun, trailed his fingers from his still hard nipple to his belly button and then gestured for Sam to continue.

Sam swallowed thickly, bringing his trembling hands back to his belt buckle, finally undoing it properly, all the while asking himself if this was really happening.

He had never been an exobitionist, far from it in fact, and was mostly shy and modest when it came to sex. But the handsome onlooker watching him with that intense gaze seemed to effectively evaporate any shame or embarrassment Sam had been holding onto at the thought of masturbating in front of a total stranger.

Drawing his zipper down, Sam slowly tugged his boxers down enough for his hardened cock to spring free. It bobbed up toward his stomach, aching and fully engorged and Sam wasted no time in bringing his hand up to spit into his palm.

He kept his eyes locked on the man outside the window as he wrapped his hand around his dick, slowly coating the entire length of it with his own saliva and rubbing the edge of his thumb through the precome oozing from the head. He pumped his hand down his shaft and then back up with a delicious twisting motion that he loved the best and felt his toes curl in his shoes.

Dean’s mouth fell slack for a moment at the sight. Dress slacks open just at the fly and leaning back on the desk, inside man was breathtaking in his slow twisting strokes. The warmth of the afternoon was nothing compared to the heat pooling below his belt and he used his free hand to adjust himself through his jeans, the leg straps of the harness highlighting his growing bulge.

He smirked at the man’s reaction to his movements, clenched teeth and hard tug in answer to Dean touching himself. Dean ran his forefinger over his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and dragging it out slowly to run his tongue over the tip. He wondered what his partner in crime would taste like as he did it again, this time nibbling before suckling the digit. He saw a shudder race through the professional, his own dick jerking in response.

He lifted his head from his arm long enough to glance around, figuring that at this height no one would see him, but found another wash crew one building over. Pressing his eyes to his forearm in frustration, he cursed to himself but grabbed his hard cock through his jeans anyway. Breathing through his mouth, imaging the man’s scent crossing his tongue, Dean squeezed tightly and watched Sam’s strokes pick up speed.

Sam's pulse was thundering in his ears from the rapid twists of his slick fist and he felt a tremor shake through his whole body as he watched the man outside squeezing at his bulging package. Sam brought his free hand up, pointer and middle fingers slipping past his lips, absently mimicking the man's previous movements.

Dean's quickening breaths momentarily fogged the window he'd just cleaned as he continued kneading and squeezing at his throbbing dick through his jeans, feeling his lower gut tighten up even more when the business man began running his fingers over and under his tongue.

Sam was suddenly struck with an image, shocking in its clarity, of the man outside on his knees with Sam's dick pushing past his plush lips, pumping into his mouth deep enough to make the man gag and choke around the intrusion. The vivid fantasy was finally enough to shove Sam over the edge of completion. His back bowed with the shattering force of the orgasm that suddenly ripped through him as he sat on the edge of his desk and he let out a strangled groan, watching with fascination as long, pearly strings of white fluid shot from his cock with enough force to splatter thickly against the window before him.

Watching the cum splash onto the window and drip lazily down the glass pulled Dean to completion as well. His mind’s eye imagining his stomach and chest coated in the sticky mess pummeled him brutally as sudden and overwhelming pleasure crashed through his body, wetness filling his boxers.

Shaking and boneless now, he thumped his head against the glass in exhaustion and grabbed the rail for support. He could almost hear the other man laughing through the thick window and a smile kissed Dean’s own lips.

He cupped his face again and saw the man had turned his back to him and was writing at his desk. He jumped and almost fell backwards when his walkie-talkie chirped at him.

“Base to Dean,” Benny’s voice crackled. He grabbed the radio from its place at the control handle and squawked back his go-ahead.

“You okay up there?” Benny sounded concerned. “You’ve been on that floor for a while. I can’t see you but I can see your scaffold.” Dean snickered at that and answered Benny as another knock at the glass made him lean in again.

“I got a little overheated, brother,” Dean admitted. “I was just taking a breather. How’d I get the west side again?” He jerked his head back when he realized what he was looking at - a phone number written in large black marker with the name “SAM” under it.

“Hot damn!” he yelped and swapped the walkie-talkie for his cell, saving the number and then shooting a quick text with his own name. He leaned in and watched as Sam got the text, blushed and then replied:

**i better clean my side of the window huh dean**

_if you need help cleaning anything else just let me know. im free at 6_

**ill meet you in the lobby then**

Sam laughed again as Dean did another victory dance before giving Sam a thumbs up, a wave and moved his scaffold down to the next floor, a deliriously happy grin on his face the entire time.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Six o'clock really could not come fast enough for Sam. He had floated through the rest of the day after his amazing encounter with Dean earlier that afternoon, constantly getting distracted by the memory of it.

He took care of his work as best he could manage, the excitement of meeting Dean face to face without the barrier of plate glass between them building and building so much that by five-thirty he was a veritable bundle of nervous energy. But somewhere along the line his eagerness had begun to morph into apprehension the closer he got to the end of the work day, effectively sabotaged by Sam's overthinking brain; it was honestly the cause of many of his past failed relationships.

Nagging doubts and insecurities that spoke to imagined faults on his part was something Sam had been trying very hard to fix since his college days and he had been getting better at quieting those irrationalities, but he couldn't stop worrying now about the impression he might have made earlier. Had he been too hasty in giving Dean his number? Had he been too hasty in pulling his _dick_ out in front of a guy he didn't even know? Christ, he still couldn't believe he had done that; he had just felt like he absolutely could not help himself in that moment.

Shaking his head, Sam blew out a shaky, pent up breath and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware that he was about to talk himself out of this date before it had even started. He had changed so much since his sophomore year, but old habits die hard. _Everything is going to be fine, so just stop it,_ he thought to himself, _Dean seemed to be enjoying himself as much as I did. Let's just see where this goes before you get all freaked out, Sam, okay?_

He nodded firmly, brushing aside his doubts, before straightening his tie and exiting his office with his bag slung over his right shoulder. Finally making his way down to the lobby, muttering encouragements to himself the entire time, Sam came to a stop after he had stepped out of the elevator. He glanced around, pretty sure he looked nonchalant about it, trying to pick Dean out in the rush of people leaving the firm for the day. His heart rate kicked up when he didn't see him anywhere, suddenly indignant that he'd been stood up.

******************

Dean and his car both growled at the red light, the fourth in a row, and he checked his watch again. He was running late and was now worried Sam would leave without him. Of course Garth picked today to ask for a lift home. How do you say “no” to the sweet goofball without feeling like douche of the year? You don’t, that’s how. But Dean had showered and changed in record time, the occasion called for a polo and khakis, and was just one light away from his date.

He’d spent the last few hours of work on autopilot, the memory of Sam’s chiseled features and pointed jawline crumbling as he came floated to the surface with an amusing frequency. Whipping his dick out like that for him was so brazen but Sam’s initial shy compliance was intriguing. Dean’s time spent behind a desk had taught him that there were two types of professionals: those that are all about the kink and those that want to be all about the kink but didn't know it yet. As he finally pulled his baby into a parking space, he wondered what side of that fence the fluffy haired guy would fall on.

_All about that kink I hope_ , Dean thought as he spotted Sam walking out of the building. His stomach did a small flip-flip at the sight of him and he practically jogged to catch him, calling his name as he crossed the parking lot. The guy was tall, taller than him even and at six foot one that was saying something. Suddenly he was anxious to get Sam home and naked; he licked his lips in anticipation.

But Dean’s lecherous thoughts skid to a stop when he saw Sam’s face, an impatient grimace that immediately bloomed into an insecure smile. His watery hazel eyes were the most endearing he’d ever seen, the softness over his brows and his shaggy brown bangs making him seem younger than he had earlier in the day. Dean felt a tug of guilt for making him wait, accidentally or not, the urgent need to make it right forcing Dean to reach out and lay a gentle hand on Sam’s arm uninvited.

Sam quickly blinked back the mildly resentful tears crowding his eyes, another habit he couldn’t shake, and was momentarily struck speechless by the electric connection sparking through him at that first contact. He drew his gaze up slowly from where Dean’s hand still lay on his arm, centering it on Dean’s eyes, stunned by the vibrant shade of green staring back up at him. Without the barrier of tinted glass and blinding backlighting, Sam was able to take in and truly admire the beauty that was this mysterious window washer. His short, dusky hair stuck up off his forehead, styled with a perfect amount of carelessness, and the hard edge of his chin was sanded with a sexy dusting of stubble, contrasting beautifully against the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks.  

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Dean said, squeezing Sam’s arm lightly before dropping his hand down to his side. “Getting back here was a bitch.”

Sam nodded slowly, forcing an understanding smile, and chastising himself for believing that Dean had purposefully stood him up. He had felt undesirable for so long that it was still easy to forget that someone might genuinely be attracted to him. Dean watched the irritation dissipate from Sam’s handsome features with relief and decided to move a bit backwards before moving forward, a dazzling smile lighting up his face.

“How ‘bout we rewind here a little bit?” Dean’s eyes shone brilliantly like sunlight glinting off cut seaglass and he held his hand out to Sam. “Hi, I’m Dean Smith.”

Sam found Dean’s smile contagious as he grasped his outstretched hand, giving it two professional pumps. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dean. I’m Sam. Sam Wesson.”

Dean’s grin broadened beautifully and Sam felt a curious flutter tickle low in his belly. He brought a hand up, rubbing across the back of his neck and chuckled out a nervous little laugh as the early evening summer sun beat down on the both of them.

Dean glanced away for a moment, swiping at a bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek, then looked back up at Sam. “Maybe we should get out of this heat. I know a great brewery downtown that has some kickass burgers. How does that sound?”

“That sounds amazing,” Sam replied, letting the last of the anxiety wash away, “As long as they serve kickass salads too.”

“Rabbit food?” Dean asked with a laugh, taking a few steps backwards and gesturing for Sam to follow. “You’re gonna need your strength later. I’m not sure a bunch of lettuce is gonna be enough.”

Quicker than Dean could register, Sam was on him, chest to chest with a large hand at the small of his back,  pressing him into Sam’s firm chest. “I do just fine on rabbit food. I promise.” Sam rubbed the tip of Dean’s nose with his own, his eyes darting to Dean’s lips, before letting the shorter man free and nodding towards the lot. He casually slid a hand into his slacks pocket and stepped away towards the cars, the very model of detached confidence. “Which one is yours?”

Dean stood slack jawed for a moment, a new habit Sam Wesson was creating in him, before breaking out in a crooked grin, pointing to his baby as he caught up to Sam’s long steps.

“See that mint condition ‘67 Chevy Impala?” Dean asked proudly, digging his keys back out of his pocket. “That’s the baby that is taking us for burgers. Oh, and salad,” he conceded, holding his palms up in surrender after seeing the playful look Sam shot him. “I’m dying to see what healthy living has in store for me later.” He winked at Sam and unlocked the passenger side door.  

A heated coil of arousal settled low in Sam's gut as he folded himself into the seat and he had to shift a couple times to accommodate the swelling in his pants. He willed away the warmth chasing across his cheeks and glanced over at Dean as he settled into the driver's seat and started the car.

Sam cleared his throat and looked away as Dean maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. "So, how did you find out about this place?" he asked.  He had been diligent about limiting how often he went out to eat and he didn't really know much about the restaurants around town.

"What, Rock Bottom?" Dean asked, pulling his eyes from the road for a moment to look over at Sam. “ I've been there a couple times since I started working for the window washing service. It's just a chain restaurant, but it's really close to where most of my jobs are and they have a pretty decent selection of beers on tap that they brew right there in house."

They kept an easy chatter as Dean maneuvered his car though late afternoon traffic. It was light for a Friday night and he figured they must be in the valley between the “after work” and the “before the club” diners. That meant that his favorite table would probably be open. Friday night at Rock Bottom mean $15 micro buckets and the weekly beer pong tournament. Winner gets a free appetizer and you can’t beat free.

Dean listened to Sam chatter about his mom’s Roadhouse Bar & Grill and his dad’s attempt at brewing. He liked the sound of Sam’s voice, enough baritone for Dean to imagine husky whispers but with a lightness that spoke to his laid back disposition. Sam was a big man, filling in most of the space in the front seat of Dean’s baby, but he had moved with a surprisingly silent grace as they had walked across the parking lot. If he hadn’t watched Sam step to the door with him, Dean would have expected to enter the restaurant alone.

Their beer discussion came an abrupt halt as they spotted the beer pong sign and Sam’s face lit up with excitement.

“Dude,” he started, “ I was beer pong champ for my frat. Do you play?”

“Do I play?” Dean asked in faux disbelief. “Man, I won this thing three weekends in a row last month. Deal us in, Darla.” Dean nodded to the bartender as the hostess lead them to Dean’s usual table. The hightop was situated between the bar and the patio with a perfect view of the beer pong tables and most of the televisions. Sam watched, more than a bit impressed and amused, as Dean effortlessly flirted with the waitress, earning them a free bucket of micros.

“So you’re a frat, huh?” Dean asked when the waitress walked away. “I was Beta back in the day.”

“No way! _I’m_ Beta,” Sam exclaimed, throwing up the hand sign. “University of South Dakota. You?”

Dean felt a bit intoxicated when Sam got excited. Something about this guy was making Dean crazy and he hadn’t even had a beer yet. “KU Jayhawks,” Dean answered, nostalgia and Sam making him glow. “I grew up in Lawrence, Kansas. Been forcing kids to chug beer since I was a teenager. We are so cleaning up tonight.” He reached across the table and grabbed Sam’s hand, running his thumb across the taller man’s palm.

Sam stiffened for a moment at the contact, feeling a full-body shiver make its way from his toes all the way up to buzz around in his head before travelling back down his spine. “Yeah, I uh, I think you mentioned something about cleaning up earlier,” Sam said, leaning toward Dean, voice pitched low. He drug his gaze up slowly from their joined hands, fueled by his newfound forwardness, and drug his tongue across his bottom lip.

Dean’s pupils dilated considerably and he opened his mouth, about to say something in response, but was cut off by their waitress coming back to the table with their bucket of assorted microbrews. His mouth snapped shut and a sideways grin played at his lips as the waitress asked if they were ready to order.

Sam pulled his hand back gently to grab up a menu and glance over the options while Dean put in for his usual burger; Medium rare, double bacon, nix the lettuce and tomato. Sam’s mouth watered a little at the sound of it, mostly just from the heavy timbre of Dean’s voice more than anything, and he let the waitress know he’d have the Cobb salad with his dressing on the side.  

Dean fished two beers from their bucket, cracking them both open and handing one over to Sam. They sat quietly for a moment, sipping from the frosty long-neck bottles. Dean let his eyes roam over Sam, studying him for a moment. He was looking out the window at his side, the last of the day’s dying light splashing his angular face in a prismatic wash of soft reds and yellows and pinks. Sam brought his beer up, pulling off a long, slow draught and Dean was instantly mesmerized by the slide and dip of Sam’s Adam’s apple as his throat worked to swallow. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to push aside the table between them and lick a thick wet stripe up that long corded neck.

He instead blinked rapidly when he realized Sam had asked him a question. “Come again?” he asked.

Sam immediately choked on his own spit at Dean’s choice of words and he coughed a few times before he finally caught his breath enough to repeat himself. “I just asked why you decided to move here? For your job?”

Dean took another pull from his beer and made a show of letting his eyes pass over Sam’s lips again. He needed to buy himself a few moments to choose his words. He should have been ready for that question, it always came up eventually, but he just didn’t expect it quite so soon. He usually didn't care what his dates thought about his past, male or female. He’d even used his darker days on a few occasions to land a partner or two in bed. But something about Sam’s guileless eyes and sweet smile made Dean hesitate with the honest information, the fear of disappointing him again making him cautious. He set his beer on the table and began to tally the truths and the lies.

“Well sort of,” he started, “I got bored with the desk job” ( _truth_ ) “and wanted to try something different.” ( _truth_ ) “I sort of missed manual labor from my construction days.” ( _lie_ ) “I worked with my dad on the weekends on remodels while in college, ya know.” ( _truth_ ) “I guess I just fell into washing windows for my buddy when I needed a break from the big time architect thing.” ( _half truth but mostly lie_ ) Honestly, Benny had done him a favor letting him join his company after his stint in prison. No architectural firm would hire him now, not with a felony conviction on his record. But Dean would rather spend the rest of his life shining shoes than making the same god awful mistakes. He was never going darkside again.

“What about you?” Dean asked, taking the heat off of himself. “What are the odds that two midwestern frat boys would meet in the middle of Houston?”

Sam chuckled and shook his head in mutual disbelief. Dean wondered for the first time that night if maybe he and Sam would have been friends back in those college days, if they could still be friends when this hookup was over. Dean wasn't the kind of person that formed lasting attachments easily, especially because of his past, but with Sam, just in the few short hours he'd known him, he knew how damn easy it would be for him to fall. Hell, he could already feel himself heading in that direction more and more with each earnest smile Sam directed his way.

Sam's chuckles faded after a moment and he looked down at the bottle in his hand, absently wiping a few beads of condensation away with the pad of his thumb. The movement, as innocuous as it was, sent an electric bolt of desire skipping straight down to Dean's cock. He took a deep gulp of his beer, whetting his suddenly dry throat, and waited quietly for Sam to speak.

"I don't know what the odds are, but I'm guessing they're not that high," Sam said thoughtfully. “Houston, originally, was never part of the plan."

At Dean's somewhat confused smile, Sam elaborated, "I got my degree in criminal law from USD, and even though I'd graduated at the top of my class," Sam glanced away, blushing slightly at the boasting nature of his college achievements, but reminded himself that those achievements were a direct result of his hard work and continued, "I never dreamed I would find a job so far away from my hometown and in a city that was so big. I just figured I'd set up my own practice where I grew up. But I had always had my heart set on working for a District Attorney's Office." He paused for a moment, his jaw working tensely, before he said, "My little sister, Jo, was the real reason for that. She was the victim of senseless crime and never got the justice she deserved. I vowed to never let something like that happen again if there was a way I could stop it."

Dean turned his head away and drew his brows together in a sympathetic grimace Sam had been on the receiving end of countless times in those dark days and he decided to steer the conversation back to a less heartbreaking topic. Sam missed the anxiety as it crept across Dean's face, it vanished so quickly.

He coughed to clear his throat and began again. "So anyways, I got a call from Castiel Novak, the DA down at the Harris County CJC, the building you washed today, extending an invitation for an internship position right after I graduated and aced the LSATs. I jumped at the chance and when I got here and totally smashed the Bar, I was offered a full time position as a deputy DA before I even had 6 months of volunteer hours under my belt. I've been the top prosecutor for this county ever since."

Dean paled slightly, glad he’d held back, and Sam immediately felt a flare of regret burn through him for playing himself up so much. He was about to go on a somewhat customary self-deprecating jag when Dean broke into a beautiful crooked grin. Others had been intimidated by Sam’s success but Dean seemed to embrace it, something Sam was not quite expecting.

“Looks like I caught myself a Boy Scout. Good for you, man!" he said brightly, reaching his hand across the table again to squeeze Sam's warmly. "You definitely kicked my ass in the credentials category, Sammy."

Pride instantly took the place of his momentary regret, both from the praise and the pet name, and Sam returned Dean's wide grin with one of his own just as the waitress brought out their food.

Dean picked up a fry, pointing it at Sam who was spearing a few leaves of lettuce on his fork, before chomping down half of the deep fried potato. "Okay, that's all totally awesome, and I'm being completely serious," he said as he chewed,  "But you still haven't told me the most interesting thing yet."

Sam looked up from his plate and cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy and Dean's heart did a somersault. He shoved a couple more fries in his mouth and picked up his burger, motioning toward Sam's salad with it. "Why the rabbit food?"

Sam spoke around his first bite, “Not all of us have the luxury of working manual labor in the summer heat by choice. Some of us actually have make an effort for these muscles.” Sam laughed at Dean’s indignant face but continued, “Y'know, _Sammy_ is a chubby 12 year old, well a chubby college freshman actually. _Sam_ ,” he stressed, pressing a hand to his chest, “has lost about a hundred pounds between his bachelor’s and his bar exam. It’s hard work but worth it,” Sam tipped his chin low and smirked at Dean, the other’s mouth full of bacon and ground beef, “Because I get to bang hot window washers in my spare time.”

It was Dean’s turn to flush and fluster at the attention, coughing as he choked on his bite. How Sam went from sweet charm to smoldering sexuality was staggering and Wonderboy’s performance before the tinted glass suddenly fell into place. His shy and bashful start all the way to his magnificent finish had been breathtaking in its simple sensuality and Dean figured Sam’s weight was probably the cause. He wondered for moment if the man had had to defend himself against bullies as often as Dean himself did. Kids are as cruel to the fat kids in town as they are to the poor kids. But fat kids with a dead sister?

The kid (his puppy dog eyes and tad-too-long hair earned him that internal label from Dean) was something else for sure. He’d accomplished so much in such a short time and Dean felt genuine pride for him, his heart giving another tumble. _Dammit, the night was not supposed to go like this_ , Dean chastised himself. _Get in, get out, move on_. Getting involved with a DA, junior or not, wasn't in the cards for a man like Dean. But, as he watched Sam compliment the salad to the waitress and take another swig of his microbrew, Dean was pretty sure tonight’s romp was going to leave him wanting more. When was the last time he'd felt that way? Never, that's when. And he wasn’t about to pass up on something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We really hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! We have big plans ahead for these boys, so stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

Sam pushed back from the table after the waitress had taken their empty plates, satisfyingly full but not overly stuffed, and set his credit card right alongside Dean's when they decided they'd go dutch. Once their bill was settled and tips doled out, Dean gestured Sam toward the beer pong table that had been set up at the rear of the restaurant with a gentle guiding hand at the small of his back, right above the swell of his ass.

Sam trembled with the sudden rush of want that flooded through him at the touch and he swallowed _hard_ , deciding then and there that he wanted to get through this game as quickly as he could, win or lose, just so he could get into Dean's bed as soon as physically possible.

Dean came to a stop at one end of the long table that was already set up with red solo cups and Sam stepped to his side, coming up close enough that their hips touched. Dean glanced up at him, a sexy sideways grin ticking up the corner of his mouth, and held his hand out toward Sam, presenting the two ping pong balls nestled in his palm.

"Blow on 'em for good luck," he said, voice pitched low and dripping with sex.

Sam turned toward him, brushing the front of his slacks against Dean's hip as he did. "You want me to blow on your balls?" he husked, heart thudding heavily in his chest.

Dean nodded and lifted his hand closer to Sam's mouth, his eyes a glinting a deep hunter green in the low light of the restaurant. Sam canted his head forward and pursed his lips, blowing out a gentle stream of air that washed warmly over Dean's hand. Dean inched his eyes up slowly, a tic bunching at the back of his jaw, looking more kissable and fuckable than ever before and Sam leaned even closer, intending on finally getting a taste of that gorgeous mouth, but drew back quickly when their beer pong opponents finally approached the table.

A pair of giggling party girls stood opposite them, each in tight jeans and spaghetti strap tank-tops. Dean had seen them before and knew they played dirty, using cleavage to their advantage against unsuspecting players. As Dean watched the blondes sizing up Sam, his dress shirt untucked and his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, he chuckled at the hopeful whispering and nodding going back and forth. He was pretty sure the two of them made for a spectacular view from the girls’ side of the table, with the jawlines and the hair, but he was also pretty sure the girls were going down in the first round. And not in the fun way.

When he turned back to Sam, Dean was greeted by a knowing smirk as Sam raised his eyebrows in early celebration. He’d come to the same conclusion as Dean and was more than ready to get the show on the road. After having his first kiss interrupted and then being oogled like a juicy steak, Sam was feeling a bit more competitive than he thought appropriate. He let Dean watch him nibble his bottom lip for a moment before turning his boyish charm on the girls.

“Alright ladies, are we doing this with or without bounce?” Sam called across the table, his dimpled smile garnering a fresh spat of giggles. Dean hid his laughter behind a hand when the poor girl on the left tipped her body forward and dipped her shoulders, ample bosom threatening to spill out already.

“If you like the bounce,” she flirted back, “then bounce it is.” She gave her friend a wink and cocked her head to the side, exposing her neck to Sam, a clear line from her ear to the shadow between her breasts adding to the invitation.

“Okay,” Sam replied, totally unfazed, as he grabbed the ping pong balls from Dean, bounced each in turn into a half-full cup and waved for the ladies to drink. The stunned faces, pretty now turned cold, pulled a full belly laugh from Dean as he snaked one arm around Sam’s waist to pull him in for a celebratory hug. His lips grazed Sam’s neck and his raucous laughter subsided into chuckles and then a breathy grin when he caught sight of Sam’s gratified face. He was tantalizing in his sudden arrogance and Dean was sure that this game was the start of foreplay.

As the cups on the far side of the table disappeared, Sam found every excuse to let his fingers and palms claim a spot on Dean’s body. His fingers slid down his back as Dean lined up a shot. His hand curled around his upper arm as they watched a ball bounce in and then back out of their cup. His fingers slipped into Dean’s belt loop to tug him into a better position for his turn at a toss. By the time the girls took their last swigs of beer, both men were flushed and wanting, opting out of round two but fist bumping at the girls’ defeat.

They wasted no time in rushing out of the restaurant, Dean grabbing their free appetizer certificate for their beer pong win as they quickly passed the hostess station near the front door. Sam pulled the little strip of paper from Dean’s grasp as they made their way to Dean’s car, waving it in the air triumphantly, with a proud smile on his face.

“Dude, I think you owe me for helping you win this,” he said, feeling a bit cocky from their victory, feeling a bit drunk on the adrenaline and arousal pumping through him.

Dean turned slowly from where he had been unlocking the passenger side door, a predatory grin curling his lips. “Oh yeah?” He sauntered the three steps to where Sam stood, reaching his hands under Sam’s untucked shirt and slipping his fingers into the waistband of his slacks, tugging Sam up flush against him. “And how, may I ask, should I begin showing you my gratitude?”

Sam felt his knees weaken. The heat from Dean’s fingers on his stomach sent all the blood in his head rushing down to his cock in a dizzying surge and he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could only tip his head down to finally _finally_ press his lips to Dean’s mouth.

His hands hung awkwardly at his sides for a moment until he heard Dean moan, _felt_ Dean moan, and he brought them up to fist into the material of the back of Dean's shirt. Sam coaxed his mouth open with his own and pulled in a frantic but deep taste. And oh Jesus, what a taste. It was absolutely fucking divine: spicy and sweet, tangy and bitter, with subtle yet demanding undertones of hops and vanilla. Sam could drown in the complexity of it, and he almost did. He pulled back with reluctance but only for the burn of his oxygen-starved lungs.

Dean looked up at him as they both panted for breath, his lips parted and swollen, his green irises nearly overtaken completely by the blackness of his pupils. His hands raced up Sam’s ribs and across his back, pulling him closer still for another kiss. This time Sam walked them back the few paces to lean against the Impala, his large hands reaching up to frame Dean’s face as he breathed him in, tilting his head and gulping like a starving man.

The press of the hard metal behind him, Dean pulled one leg up to wrap around Sam’s and press his arousal hard into the taller man's hip. Eyes closed, he plundered as deeply as Sam had in the first kiss, his tongue inching its way into his soft mouth, over his sweet tongue and hard teeth. He smelled and _tasted_ as much of sex and promise as honey and beer and Dean felt himself floating, falling into Sam’s lips, each suckle of his tongue sending a pulse through his skin. When they pulled back again, Dean opened his eyes lazily, a teasing smile across his lips.

“Am I paid up?” he asked, his fingers digging into the corded muscles of Sam’s back before slipping down to tuck into the back of his slacks and tease the part in his cheeks. A carnivorous glow warmed Sam’s face, his eyes dancing between Dean’s lips and eyes, and he sniffed his neck, letting his teeth drag up to his ear.

“Not quite,” he growled as he pushed Dean’s leg down and spun him in one fluid motion. His chest now flush against Dean’s back and his erection pressing urgently between them, arms entwined, hands clutching just over Dean's thudding heart. Sam leaned his weight heavily against Dean and nuzzled into the soft hairs at the back of his neck. “But you’re getting there.”

Dean's whole body shook and he canted his hips back against Sam, feeling his hardened arousal digging into the soft flesh of his right ass cheek. He chuckled breathlessly when he felt Sam ghost a hot groan against the back of his neck in response. "You let me take you to my place right now and I'll pay you back, _with interest_ ,"  Dean rasped, his tone bordering on desperate.

He suddenly felt the heavy weight of Sam's body being lifted off of his back and he turned, a sly grin already forming on his lips. But his breath caught in his chest and his smile faltered when he saw Sam looking as hungry as Dean felt himself, starved in fact. Would Dean himself even be able to last until he got to his house on the outskirts of town? Teasing Sam all the way there, though, would make it all worth it.

"How 'bout we go to my place?" Sam asked around gasping breaths, carding a hand through his hair. "It's right down the street."

"And what if I wanted to use the time driving to _my_ place to make you squirm and pant until you couldn't take it anymore?" Dean countered.

He could clearly see the blush that raced across Sam's cheeks under the stark fluorescent lights in the darkened parking lot, but the taller man quickly regained his composure and brought his hands up, right fist in his left palm.

“ Let's make it fair decision," Sam said with a grin. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Alright, kid, I'll take that challenge," Dean replied, bringing his hands up as well, already imagining the long ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that little delay between chapters there, folks! We should be back on track now! Thank you for sticking with us ^u^


	4. Chapter 4

"Take the next left," Sam said, smiling smugly and nuzzling his nose against the sensitive skin behind Dean's ear.

Dean shivered and tightened his hands over the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. "We almost there?"

He felt just about ready to fucking explode, especially with Sam's hand caressing all up and down his thighs, purposefully neglecting his aching cock, the bastard. Dean's words had been mercilessly turned against him and now _he_ was the one squirming and panting, all within the span of ten minutes.

"See that sign for the underground parking lot?" Sam asked, humid breath washing over Dean's neck.

Dean nodded tensely and pulled into the ramp that led down to a yellow and black barrier arm blocking the way in. Dean rolled down his window as he pulled up to the card reader, feeling the steamy air from the hot Houston night smack him in the face. He started turning toward Sam for the key card, but Sam was already crawling across the seat and over Dean to swipe it himself. Dean brought his hand up, taking full advantage of the situation, and slapped Sam’s firm ass _hard._  

Sam yelped in surprise, jerking back into his seat as the arm raised up, granting them access. "You are _so_ gonna pay for that," he said.

"Put it on my tab," Dean smirked, easing the Impala down into the parking garage.

He whipped into the first empty space he could find after Sam told him it didn't matter what level he parked on. The two scrambled out of the car as quickly as they could, barely before Dean even turned off the engine.

Sam grasped him by the wrist and marched him to the elevator nearest to them. Dean reached his hands up, tangling his fingers in Sam's long hair and tugging him closer to ravage his mouth with hungry licks and bites while they waited for the elevator car to arrive. When it finally did, they tumbled in with a frenzied tangle of limbs.

Sam blindly punched the button for his floor, hugging Dean close to his body, desperately needing friction for his aching cock. He ground up against Dean's belly, his hands seeking and finding Dean's ass, taking two handfuls of each cheek, swallowing up the groan that filtered out of Dean's throat.

Dean quickly pulled away, shoving Sam back against the wall and falling to his knees before him like a man worshipping at a sacred altar. He hooked his fingers into Sam's pockets and brought his lips to Sam's cock, straining under the confines of his dress slacks, mouthing wetly at the material.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and pumped his hips forward, stroking through Dean's hair roughly, feeling like he would fucking _die_ if he couldn’t feel his dick inside Dean within the span of the next two goddamn seconds.

Dean's hands slipped to the front of Sam's slacks and he was just about to unzip the fly when the elevator pinged its destination and the doors rolled open. Without preamble, he hopped to his feet, took Sam’s hand and bolted from the car. The sudden jerk back into the confined space was unexpected and Dean found himself nuzzled into Sam shirt, the other’s foot holding the elevator door open.

“What’s the hold up?” he protested, “We got things to do!” Sam’s shushing motion exchanged further complaints for a questioning eyebrow.

“Mrs. Ferguson two doors down is, no kidding, the sitcom nosy neighbor,” Sam leaned out of the car for a peek down the hall, the hot skin of his neck pressing against Dean’s face. The temptation to sample was too much and Dean let his tongue slid over the smooth skin, easily garnering another groan and a heavy kiss.

“If she notices us walking by,” he continued, panting, “she’ll come out to talk.”

“So what?”

“So do you feel like talking to a ninety year old great grandmother for twenty minutes? I thought not,”  Sam chuckled. Dipping his head for another searing kiss, Dean’s hands fisting in his hair again, Sam groaned and whispered his plan. They would tiptoe down the hall against the opposite wall until they reached his door, two more past Mrs. Ferguson’s. Sam could probably get his door open before the old woman could get her door open so they should be home free.

Hand in hand and fighting giggles like school boys, the two grown men inched their way down the luxurious carpet, eyes glued to the second door the entire trip. Sam took point and guided Dean around the plant topped table across from _that_ door, his thumb pressed against his teeth to keep his laughter stifled. Dean, for his part, was a choirboy, naughty grin firmly in place and whispered retorts tumbling from his lips. Glancing over his shoulder, Sam allowed another shush to escape as he stopped them outside his door then swung Dean around him to keep watch. His keys slipped into the lock and it clicked just as Mrs. Ferguson’s door swung open.

Not waiting for the kind old lady to make her salutation, Dean pressed himself against Sam’s chest, his arms circling and then lifting him slightly off his feet for a tackle, kicking the door shut behind them as Sam yelled “Hi, Mrs. Ferguson” into the hall. They spilled onto the floor in the foyer, loud and unruly laughter echoing in the small space followed by a yelp from Sam.

“Damn but you’re delicious, Sammy,” Dean admired breathlessly as he dipped again for another go at Sam’s throat.

Sam's skin flushed a pretty pink, from his unrelenting arousal as well as from Dean calling him Sammy again. He didn't usually like it when people called him anything but Sam, but the way Dean formed the letters with that perfect mouth, the way the name sounded rolling off his tongue, made it seem like such a crime to make him stop.

Dean straddled Sam's hips, grinding his ass down against Sam's aching erection, a wicked smile on his face. He curled forward,  grasping Sam's wrists and wrenching them over his head and pinning them against the hardwood beneath them. Sam could feel the heat from Dean's breath wash across his chin and he moved his head up, as far forward as he was able with his arms trapped, biting at Dean's stubbled jaw.

"Say it again," he pleaded.

Dean ground down harder. "Say what, Sammy?"

Sam only had to look up at him for Dean to understand. "You like that, huh? Like it when I call you Sammy?" He brought his head down, licking the soft cup of Sam's ear. "Well, if you're a good boy, I might even scream it for ya."

Pure fucking _want_ plowed through Sam and he absolutely could not take it anymore. His whole body tightened with the effort to roll Dean off of him and he let out a primal growl that was so uncharacteristic of him that he shocked himself. He stumbled to his feet, hauling Dean up with him, the beginnings of an apology forming on his lips until he saw Dean grinning with the same feral intensity. Sam suddenly found himself being pulled through his own apartment until they finally came to the bedroom where Dean pushed him up against the nearest wall. Sam let out a rough grunt with the driving force of the impact.

Dean's hands were instantly all over him, unknotting his tie and undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one. And with each inch of skin that was being exposed, Sam felt a fractional increase of self-consciousness. He had worked hard to get healthy, had worked so damn _hard_ for the body he had now, but he still remembered, in a deeply hidden part of himself, the teasing and embarrassment he had endured when he was younger.

Dean glanced up from his task of unbuttoning, sensing a subtle shift in Sam's enthusiasm. There was a slightly shuttered look in Sam's beautiful hazel eyes and Dean only had to guess that it was from Sam's insecurity. He wanted to show him that he had absolutely _nothing_ to be insecure about.

He began pressing hot kisses down the exposed expanse of Sam's toned chest as he continued to unbutton his shirt, muttering "gorgeous" and "stunning" and "so goddamn sexy" after each reverent touch of his lips. Sam quickly loosened again and by the time Dean had pulled off every last stitch of clothing on the younger man, Sam was grinning and completely unabashed, not to mention completely aroused; his cock stood at attention proudly and was already shiny with dribbles of precome.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean whispered with an irrefutable tone of wonder, dragging his eyes over every inch of the gloriously naked man before him. "You are _so_ beautiful."

The blush crept up Sam's chest and neck, his dimpled smile bringing the childlike innocence back to his features for a moment before feral desire swept back in, his hazel eyes going dark as he reached a hand out. Dean groped himself through his slacks before dropping to his knees and tapping Sam's inner thigh, encouraging a wider stance. He placed a palm flat against Sam's abdomen and tickled the fine hairs that trailed to the coarser ones framing the swollen object of his affection. His other palm held Sam’s leg still as he buried his face in the crook of his thigh, peppering bites and kisses as he spoke.

"Oh, the things I'm gonna do to you, Sammy. The things I'm gonna let you do to me? God, I can't wait." His voice was low and gravelly with want and he was rewarded his Sam’s thick fingers in his short hair.

Dean took his time as he licked a wet stripe up Sam’s engorged cock, savoring the sweat and musk that was Sam. His tongue rounded the head, licking at the precum stained skin like a lolipop before swallowing down as much flesh as would fit. Eyes closed, Dean heard Sam’s head hit the wall behind him as a groan tumbled down to his ears, the sound like water on hot desert sand, his own cock starting to dribble.

Sam looked down at Dean’s kneeling form and gasped again, his hips stuttering at his fantasy made real. The slurping sounds of Dean's mouth around his cock doubled the sensation and he knocked his head back against the wall again, the deep rumbled chuckle from Dean sending another wave of pleasure racing through his already overwrought nerve endings. He looked down again and studied the man below him, the muscles of his forearms bunching with the effort to keep Sam still, his full lips stretched wide and dripping with saliva and Sam’s own slickness. He was getting close and his body tightened in response.

Sensing his imminent orgasm, Dean popped off his suckling, grunted his refusal and stood, taking a step back. “Not yet, baby boy. I got plans for you.”

Dean took another step back as Sam stepped forward, a teasing dance as he kicked off his shoes and striped out of his own clothes.

"Condoms?" Dean asked, pulling his polo over his head to be tossed aside.

"Bedside table. Top drawer."

"They make them in your size?" he teased and shoved his khakis to the floor, stepping out in just in boxers and socks. "Did your eyes just sparkle? I swear there was a sparkle."

Dean laughed as Sam finally swarmed him, one sock still on, the other in his hand, and tipped them both onto the bed.

"You think you're cute, huh?" Sam asked, sliding his palm under Dean's thick thigh, caressing the smooth muscles and pulling the limb over his hip before sliding his fingers into the underside of Dean’s boxers.

"I think I'm adorable," Dean retorted, leaning his head away and inviting Sam's attention.

Sam took full advantage of the offer and brought his mouth down, sucking wet bites to Dean's exposed throat, the brine of his perspiration zinging across his tongue. He crept his fingers further under Dean's boxers to the cleft of his ass. Dean let out a hiss as Sam's dry finger brushed against his throbbing hole, canting his hips up suggestively.

"I'm a pretty tough guy and I can take a lot, but I've never had anyone as big as you," Dean rasped earnestly. "Mind getting me ready first?"

Sam pulled back from Dean's neck, swishing his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head. “You thought I wouldn't?" he asked, his eyes searching Dean's face. He knew he was bigger than most guys, hell a _lot_ bigger honestly, and though Dean was a bigger guy, _stature-wise_ , than Sam was used to, there was no way he wasn't going to take his time preparing Dean properly.

Dean shrugged and smiled. "Just wanted to make sure."

Sam nodded and crawled across the mattress to the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lube and a handful of condoms. He made his way back to Dean, tugging first his boxers off and then his one remaining sock, pressing a kiss to the tender arch of Dean's instep. Dean giggled and jerked his foot away and Sam filed _that_ particular piece of information away for later use.

He then spread Dean's thighs apart carefully, his eyes raking over the pale skin there that was much lighter than the sun kissed tan covering Dean's upper half. His gaze was quickly drawn to Dean's cock, thick and veiny, laying heavy against his lower belly. Sam swallowed back the sudden rush of saliva that filled his mouth and slicked up his fingers with lube, spreading a generous amount on Dean's quivering and puckered entrance with feather-light touches.

Dean gasped and Sam drew his hand back, looking up to gauge Dean's comfort level. His head was thrown back on the bed with his teeth bared.

Sam proceeded cautiously, squeezing his fist around the base of his own dick as he reached his hand forward again, pushing the tip of his middle finger into Dean's tight hole. He withdrew before he hit the first knuckle, earning a frustrated groan from Dean. He pushed in again slowly, further this time, and was about to pull out, when Dean suddenly reached down, grasping Sam's wrist roughly. Sam looked up, sure that he had hurt Dean somehow.

Dean stared at him, his face blushing an angry red. "What the fuck're you doin', man? You're killing me here."

"I'm getting you ready, Dean," Sam said softly with a nervous chuckle, suddenly and irrationally afraid that maybe he was doing it wrong.

He tried pulling his hand back from where his finger was still half buried in Dean's ass, but Dean's hand clamped down tighter around Sam's wrist, pushing his finger in all the way.  "I'm not a fucking china doll. You're not gonna break me."

Sam shook his head lightly with uncertainty, his sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead. Dean growled and began roughly pumping Sam's finger in and out of his ass. "Sammy, look at me"

Sam glanced up from where his finger was buried, locking his gaze on Dean's flushed face.

"It's okay. I can take it. Just open me up and I'm all yours, baby boy.” Dean’s voice was softer now, almost as comforting as it was commanding. Sam took a steadying breath and started again as Dean released his grip and leaned back on his elbows.

“ _Look_ at me, Sammy,” Dean commanded, letting one hand slide down his torso and back up to pinch his nipple.

As if he could disobey, Sam’s eyes hungrily followed Dean’s hand as it caressed his skin. He was as aroused by Dean’s muscular form now as he had been that afternoon. Rather than skinny or lean, Dean carried a hard bulk in his legs and shoulders. Sam admired the curve of his neck as it worked to keep Dean’s head up, the strain in his upper arms where most of his weight now rested. His tummy jumped in time to Sam’s hand which moved now with more confidence, in and out from tip to knuckle, then two fingers in and out from tip to knuckle.

Dean let his head fall back and spread his legs wider, his husky voice just a whisper, “Find it, Sammy. Give it to me good.”

Sam knew what Dean wanted and twisted his hand at the wrist, letting the tips of his fingers slide against the soft walls of Dean’s passage. It seemed so much easier with the smaller men that Sam usually attracted. They were overly eager, open and panting before Sam had time to learn what they wanted. But Dean? Dean was an entirely different animal. Dean wanted him to touch and taste and _savor_ , and oh how his cries curled Sam’s toes when he finally found that spot - it was nearly enough to push him over the edge.

“Dean. Dean, please.” Sam’s desperate voice shook Dean like a bass chord striking deep and resonating through his chest.

He lifted his head, blinking around the intense desire beating through him to bring Sam into focus. Sam’s brows were drawn together, sweat beading on his forehead, on the very cusp of breaking.

And damn if Dean wasn’t on the verge himself. Especially when Sam said, “I need to be inside you. I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

Dean nodded vigorously, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut at the aching loss of Sam’s fingers being withdrawn. There was the sound of ripping foil as Sam opened a condom and suddenly Dean felt the pressure of Sam’s cock pressing against his overworked and eager hole. He looked up at Sam, seeing the pure bliss settle across his face as he pushed into Dean’s tight heat.

Dean groaned loudly, feeling every single inch of Sam’s dick as he worked in, stretching him, filling him, and in a way that was absolutely indescribable. Sam trembled above him, coming to rest on his elbows up by Dean’s head after he had bottomed out and Dean hooked his ankles around Sam’s lower back, silently nudging him to start moving. And move he did; short, shallow thrusts that quickly morphed into pounding and brutal pushes and pulls. The sharp sound of skin slapping skin rang out harshly in the confines of Sam’s bedroom, mixing fluidly with the gasps and moans drawn from them both.

Bringing his hands up to dig his fingers into the steely and flexing muscles of Sam’s shoulders, Dean held on against the staggering onslaught. He lifted his head up from the bed, sliding one hand into Sam’s thick, damp hair and holding him in close for a fiercely intimate kiss. Sam whimpered into Dean’s open mouth and Dean ate up the sound greedily, raising his hips for a deeper penetration of Sam’s cock.

He suddenly found himself being lifted bodily up from the mattress by Sam’s muscular arms and he gave a surprised grunt. He fell into place on Sam’s lap, never once in the movement losing the fullness of Sam’s dick, and straddled his legs wide over Sam’s thighs, bouncing up and down wildly.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s back, pressing him close against his sweat-slick chest, bringing his mouth down close to Dean’s ear as he continued to thrust up into his throbbing channel. “Do you feel how deep I am inside you, Dean?” he panted, sending a violent shudder through Dean’s whole body.

Dean nodded, biting into the soft curve of Sam’s neck. The sharp and tangy salt of Sam’s sweat exploded across his tongue, instantly sending electric bolts of desire slamming straight down to his aching and rock-hard cock where it slid between their bellies. “S- So deep, Sammy,” he stammered. “Christ, you’re so deep, baby boy.”

Sam’s hands slid down Dean’s back, grabbing his ass cheeks and spreading them, penetrating Dean even deeper, deeper than he had ever experienced. He cried out at the ecstasy of it, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair tightly, feeling his balls draw up close to his body as his orgasm started shaking through him in a slow and delicious build.

“I’m -- I’m gonna…” Sam sobbed breathlessly against the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Let go, Sammy,” Dean choked, “Come with me.”

His next breath lodged deep in his chest as he felt Sam go rigid against him, his cock driving up with a rough finality, filling the condom inside him with a hot, liquid rush that Dean could actually _feel_ high in his belly.

Dean crashed over the edge almost simultaneously, shouting Sammy’s name like he said he would, coming so hard that the world blurred to white. He spasmed and shook in Sam’s strong arms as his cock erupted in powerful, sticky spurts between them, smearing and marking them both with his release. The exquisite high took its time fading as they sat unmoving for several moments, each letting his hands stroke the other softly, aftershocks rolling through them in turns.

Dean pressed his forehead to Sam’s shoulder, gasping for breath and listening to the other’s labored breathing settle back into a stable rhythm. Sated for now, his thoughts turned to cleaning up and hot water and worshiping this creature in his arms with a washcloth and soap but his limbs wouldn’t obey the command to move.

“I knew there was a wildcat under that boy scout exterior,” Dean mused against Sam’s ear. The answering chuckle bounced him gently on Sam’s lap before he was released and he fell back, pulling Sam with him, settling side by side.

“Okay, so maybe I did get a little carried away,” Sam admitted with a blush and then laughed at Dean’s incredulous face.

“A _little_? Dude, I never get manhandled. That was awesome!” Dean beamed like a million dollar winner, eliciting an embarrassed but proud chuckle from Sam.

Indifferent to the mess and eager to have him close again, Dean pulled Sam into his arms, one limb sliding under to caress his back. Sam settled his head against Dean’s shoulder, cradled in a tenderness he didn’t realize he needed. Dean massaged the tips of his fingers over Sam’s scalp and took another deep breath, the scent of Sam and sex making his mouth water. As sleep inched its way over both of them, a rumble from Dean’s chest pulled Sam’s attention back from dreamland.

“What?” he asked, drowsily.

“Sam, did you really think you were gonna hurt me?” He could hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “Like with just your fingers?”

“Aww man,” Sam groaned and buried his face for a moment. “Come on, don’t make fun of me now. You said yourself it was awesome.”

Dean gave another happy rumble and pulled Sam’s hand into his own. “Oh yeah it was awesome, but I’m thinking someone has a thing for delicate little princesses. Glad you got over that shit.”

“They have a thing for _me_.” Sam corrected. “Besides, you have a thing for me so... doesn’t that make _you_ the delicate little princess?”

Dean didn’t answer but instead gave a tug to a lock of chestnut hair.

“Dude, ouch!” Sam let out a low laugh and rubbed his head where Dean had tugged, giving Dean a light punch in return.

“Dammit, baby boy!” Dean replied with mock irritation, followed by a wide yawn, “Can’t you see a man’s trying to sleep here?”

“Yeah okay.” Sam was skeptical but nuzzled a bit closer anyway, his own yawn racing the next words from his mouth. “So I guess there are no pretty pink panties or fluffy tutus hiding in your stuff somewhere?”

“Of course there are!” Dean scoffed with another chuckle, pulling the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and covering it over the two of them. “If you let me get some sleep before round two, I’ll show them off for you on the next date. I’m just easy like that.”

Sam said goodnight before Dean could finish his sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! Just wanted to let you guys know that we changed the summary a bit since we decided to take the story in somewhat of a different direction, in as far as focusing more on the hot, steamy fun that Sam and Dean are going to be getting themselves into in the future ;) Stick around for lots and lots more fun to cum, I mean come.


	5. Chapter 5

A heated shaft of early morning sunlight sifted through the blinds in Sam's bedroom, slanting across the two sleeping forms tangled together on the bed. Dean cracked an eye open, momentarily disoriented by where he was and why he was so damn _hot_ , even with the obvious breeze of central air being pumped into the room, and immediately saw the reason why when his gaze fell on Sam, snoring lightly and draped across his chest. His bangs were hiding his eyes but they trembled in time to his steady breaths. Dean hadn’t slept that well in far too long and he snuggled a bit closer to Sam despite the warmth; the man was a goddamn heater.

The man was also a fucking deputy District Attorney!

Dean's eyes flew open as the events from last night came flooding back, immediately kicking up his heart rate. His prison time hung around his neck like an albatross and most definitely would not mix well at all with someone so far on the right side of the law. Sam did not need that kind of dead weight holding him back. Besides, Dean reminded himself, he was not the type of guy to stick around so long the morning after, even if last night's sex was the best he'd had in longer than he could remember.

He squinted into the sunlight shining into the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall, then glanced to the clock on the bedside table. 6 am? Fuck, he'd already stayed way longer than he was used to in these love 'em and leave 'em situations that he was, regrettably, so used to.

Disentangling himself from beneath Sam as gingerly and quietly as possible, Dean scooted off the bed and went about the task of gathering up his clothes from the floor, smiling despite himself when Sam took a deep and noisy breath in his sleep. Spotting his boxers near the door, he crossed the large room, accidentally stepping on a weakened floorboard. He immediately cringed and ducked his head down as it let out a loud squeak.

Sam startled awake at the sound, instantly reaching out across the mattress for Dean before his eyes had even opened. And when his hand found nothing but air, he sat up abruptly. He saw Dean over by the bedroom door, frozen in bending forward to pick his boxers up off the hardwood. Sam's heart plummeted, fully understanding that Dean had been trying to sneak away while he slept, and he swallowed dryly. Of course he was leaving. The night was over so why would he stay?

Dean straightened slowly, not attempting to hide his nakedness in any way. "Good morning!" he said, an obviously forced grin spreading across his face. "I was just, uh, cleaning up a little."

Sam nodded, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Yeah," he said, chuckling weakly and bringing up a hand to rub over the back of his neck. "Y'know, if you need to be somewhere, I totally understand." He shifted uneasily on the bed, gathering the sheets across his bare lap. He really shouldn't be disappointed. He'd let others go without complaint, so letting Dean leave should be no different. It _should_ have been no different, but it wasn't.

Dean's smile fell away as he looked at Sam, beautiful, perfect Sam, covering himself as if Dean hadn't already seen every single inch of his naked skin last night up close and personal. Dean blinked numbly. _What the hell am I doing?_  he asked himself. How could he even think of hurting Sam after the night they had just shared? He was so wrapped up in his own damn head that he hadn't even considered Sam at all. And didn't that just speak fucking volumes about why he was no good for a man as amazing as Sam Wesson anyways?  

Dean shook the thoughts away roughly, not wanting to see that utterly dejected look on Sam's face any longer, or ever again for that matter, and tossed his clothes over his shoulder. He grinned broadly and shrugged as he quickly made his way back to the bed.

"No way," he said, vaulting himself onto the mattress, almost crushing an amused Sam as he straddled his lap. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

The relieved smile that broke across Sam's face made Dean's heart ache. The morning after was not known for enduring chemistry and Dean knew leading Sam on was wrong. This attachment would fall apart any minute now and then he’d be … they’d be… yeah.

He quickly pushed away the incomplete thoughts, busying himself instead with the softness and warmth of Sam's skin under his lips as he pressed kisses all along Sam's collarbone. Humming his pleasure, Sam brought his hands up to caress Dean’s face, his scruff harsh against Sam’s soft palm. Dean’s kisses morphed into nips and then into raspberries, the sound of Sam’s deep laughter filling the room and the empty spot in Dean’s gut. A smiling Sam Wesson was like fucking sunshine and rainbows. How was that even possible?

Sam too tried to cling to his fear. Would the morning prove that their connection was purely physical? But he let his insecurity slip away with each nibble from Dean’s mouth on his flesh. Sam knew that he shouldn't be so excited to have this stranger stay any longer than he had already but he just couldn’t come down from his high. Dean’s attention was like a drug and he wanted to take as many hits as he could before it was time to head back out into the real world. As giggles and raspberries gave way to murmurs and sighs, Sam hands gripped Dean’s hips forcefully, pushing his own hips up to rub against Dean’s backside.

“Ready to go again, Sammy?” Dean chuckled, rolling his hips back and down, adding to the pressure. When the sweetness slipped away from Sam's smile, a darkness inching across his lips to replace it, Dean fisted Sam's hair, forcing his head to the side and leaving his neck exposed. The teeth that were gentle and playful turned hungry and demanding as Dean claimed a spot on Sam's shoulder, the flesh savory on his tongue.

Rather than cry out, Sam opted for control and rolled them over, his weight holding Dean still as his hands roamed his skin.

"I can't get enough of you, Dean," Sam ground out the words in time to his hips, his hardening cock rubbing against Dean's.

Insatiable. Dean made him fucking _insatiable_ and at the same time afraid that he'd never quench his desire for his muscled form under him. But Sam found himself rolling again as Dean maneuvered himself to the top, trapping Sam's arms underneath him in the process.

"Good thing you've got me for a few more hours then isn't it, tiger," Dean crooned against Sam's ear and then let his tongue draw a wet line from lobe to tip. "Softball practice doesn't start until ten. I'm all yours 'til then."

"Softball, huh?" Sam looked up at him, his face full of a sincere hopefulness. "Is that a code word for something _sexy_?" He ground his hips up in a desperate attempt to find friction for his quickly thickening dick.

"No, nothing sexy," Dean chuckled, ignoring the twinge in his heart that came with Sam's innocent look. "Just community service," he finished and dipped his head down again to nip at the hard edge of Sam’s jaw.

"Community service?" Sam asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

Dean closed his eyes against his slip and gave himself a mental kick, sliding a hand between them to distract Sam. He pushed up onto his knees and pressed his forehead to the pulse point at Sam's throat. He could feel Sam's heartbeat jump as he gripped both arousals for a gentle tug that had him panting too as he spoke again.

"It's a nasty habit I picked up from the firm," ( _mostly true_ ) stroking harder at the word 'firm.' "Feels so good to give back doesn't it, Sammy?"

Sam grunted his agreement as he struggled to pull his arms free, finally stretching to take the globes of Dean's ass in his hands.

" _Now_ who's the boy scout?" Sam rumbled.

He tugged Dean forward roughly, digging his fingers into the soft supple flesh, and Dean couldn't help but release a unbecoming gasp when Sam's cock wedged between his cheeks.

Dean glanced down, letting his eyes travel over the expanse of Sam's flushed neck and chest and stomach, then drug his eyes back up slowly, a wicked idea forming in his mind.

“Looks like _someone_ is a very _dirty_ boy," he rasped, licking his lips. Sam shivered beneath him and Dean grinned sinfully, bringing his chest down to rub against Sam's. Dean's cum, dried and flaking from the previous night's escapades, scratched between them. "I think a shower is in order here."

Sam blushed a pretty pink and Dean knew he'd forgotten all about 'community service'. He pulled back, swinging his leg over Sam's hips and crawling off the bed. He reached his hand out, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

But Sam hesitated. "Isn't shower sex a little, uh, complicated?"

Dean didn't miss a beat, grasping Sam's wrist, and a few condoms, he pulled him from the bed with a rough yank. "Oh, baby boy, the things I'm gonna teach you," he promised, then immediately mentally kicked himself again for thinking of them in the long term.

He was about to tug Sam to the bathroom before quickly realizing he had no idea where it was. "Why don't you lead the way there, Sammy?"

Sam felt a rush of excitement pound straight down to his already engorged cock and he linked his arm in Dean's after taking in a long deep taste of his mouth, pulling him out of the bedroom and across the hall, playfully shoving him into his bathroom. He hadn't ever had sex in the shower before; hadn't, in fact, done a _lot_ of the things he had already done with Dean in the last 24 hours. How in the world Dean brought out this side of him was completely beyond him. Not that Sam minded in the slightest.

Dean screeched to a halt when he saw Sam's walk-in shower, his eyes going wide with amazement and Sam flushed with pride. The size of his shower was one thing he absolutely would not be swayed on when he had designed his condo, not with the length of _his_ limbs. He had also insisted on a rainfall showerhead _and_ a separate detachable, pulsating showerhead as well, seeing as the shower was where Sam did some of his best thinking.

Right now though, Sam found he could hardly think at all with Dean's plush lips suddenly smashing against his own. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby boy," Dean panted against his open mouth.

Sam nodded fervently and walked them back past the glass shower door, fumbling for the water dial and turning it on full blast, all without breaking the contact of their lips.  Warm water suddenly began cascading down around them both, slicking their skin and drenching their hair within a matter of moments, heating Sam's blood as it thundered through his veins.

He took half a step toward Dean and Dean took an obliging step back, and another and another, until Sam had him backed into a corner of the shower stall. Sam braced his hands on the tiles, caging Dean in as the warm water continued to pelt them both, washing the sweat and dried cum from their skin.

Steam billowed up between the small space separating their heaving chests and Dean looked up at him, beads of water clinging to his lashes like morning dew. Undeniable hunger flashed in his eyes, lending to them a deep verdant gleam, and he reached out, grasping onto Sam's hips, tugging him forward enough that he could rub the slick and hot steely length of his rigid arousal up against Sam's.

Sam groaned through clenched teeth and dipped his head down to lick up the pool of water that had gathered in the hollow of Dean's clavicle before dragging the flat of his tongue up the side of Dean's neck. Dean chuckled and Sam could feel the rumble of it from where his lips sucked at the warm, wet skin on his throat.

Dean tugged Sam close again, pumping his hips forward to rub their cocks against each other in a near-frictionless slide, driving Sam fucking senseless from the ecstasy of it all.

"See, Sammy? Not much to it. Same as in a bed, except for a lot more... _wet_." He punctuated the last word by reaching one hand between them to squeeze their dicks together, drawing his thumb over each tip and smearing precome around both swollen heads.

Sam's hips stuttered forward and he let out a rough groan into the crook of Dean's neck as water ran in unending rivulets down his face. It was all too much for Sam to bear anymore, far too fucking much; for as long as he wanted to draw this out, knowing in that dark, fiercely logical corner of his brain that this would probably be the last time he would see Dean (because, really, what did Sam have to offer to make him stay? ), his body _screamed_ for release. He took hold of Dean's upper arms and turned him to face the wall in a gracefully fluid motion that nearly caught the shorter man off guard.

Dean's hands came up to the slippery tile to brace himself and he looked back over his shoulder at Sam, feeling his breath lodge deep in his chest at the raw intensity he saw on Sam's face. He brushed water from his eyes and turned back to face the wall, his heart knocking heavily against his ribcage. "C'mon, baby boy," he crooned, "Let me have it."

Dean could hear Sam's harsh panting breaths even over the din of the rushing water and he rocked his ass back enticingly. He could feel him fumble with a condom wrapper and then Sam's hands were suddenly at his hips, fingers trembling slightly before he tightened his grip firmly.

Sam pulled one hand away from Dean's hip, dragging the tips of his fingers toward Dean's lower back and down to the very start of the cleft of his ass, leaving burning sparks across Dean's wet skin in his wake. Dean shuddered violently, flexing his hands on the smooth tiles. He spread his legs farther apart to give Sam's searching fingers better access to his eager hole.

The breach of Sam's middle finger was so sudden and so desperately needed that Dean cried out, arching his back and thrusting his ass closer to Sam's hand so roughly that he took the whole length of that long finger in all at once.

Sam growled but didn't miss a beat, pumping into Dean with an urgent tempo that left Dean breathless. And as quickly as that first finger was thrust in, two more joined it, driving in and out, stretching Dean, filling him. But not as fully as Sam's huge cock could.

"S-sammy," Dean stuttered, which was a first for him; Dean did _not_ stutter. "Please."

_Please_. The word did crazy things to Sam’s insides and he found himself pressing Dean harder against the tile, the need to feel him skin to skin driving his movements before his mind could really register.

_Please._ Dean pushed back against the tile but was trapped by Sam’s weight on him, that large hand sliding under his thigh to pull it up to rest his foot against the caddy shelf, the source of Sam’s temptation open and waiting. Sam leaned his forehead against Dean’s shoulder, growling with sudden need. If this was the last taste he had of Dean, he wanted it all.

Dean’s cry echoed through the stall and off the walls of the bathroom, a sound filled with agonizing ecstasy and longing, when Sam slid in, self control crushed under the weight of desire.

“Is this okay?” Sam asked, a whine in his voice, desperate. “I’m sorry. I just needed…”

“Good god, stop talking and start moving,” Dean snapped, arching to slightly force more of Sam into himself. Dean’s hand sought Sam’s as the taller man began to move, the force of his thrusts smacking Dean to the tile. Dean curled their entwined hands to his chest and guided the others to his own throbbing dick, the two stroking together in time to Sam’s hips.

For all their playing overnight, Dean was as tight as that first breach, hot and hungry. His hard muscles begged for Sam’s teeth and he obliged, sinking in as Dean had done for him, the bite making Dean cry out again in pleasure.

Sam wanted to watch his come spray across Dean’s back but he needed him to come first. He reached away from them for the soap, returning to Dean’s weeping cock with a slick hand and renewed vigor, talking as he fucked Dean hard.

“You are so beautiful, Dean,” Sam whispered. “So open and ready for me. You made me hard the moment I saw you. Did you like my show? That show just for you? Do you like this now? My dick shoving right up your ass, taking you like you’re mine? Tell me, Dean.”

Dean’s words were an incoherent garble as he came hard, bursts of white cream pulsing out over paired hands to hit matching tile. Sam too fell over the edge, pulling out, letting the condom slide off, and watching his own wet pearls of come splash onto Dean’s perfect tan skin.

Sam sagged against Dean's back, both of them holding each other up somehow, as the warm water from the shower continued to sluice around them, rinsing away Dean's spend from the tiled wall before them. Their breathing slowly evened out and Sam pulled back, but not before mouthing a lingering kiss to the freckled skin of Dean's shoulder, cataloging the uniquely sharp taste of the man, filling it away for when he would be gone.

Dean chuckled hoarsely, breaking Sam from those thoughts with a jolt.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, a small smile curving his lips.

Dean pushed away from the tiled wall, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. "Good thing we're already in the shower, huh?"

Sam looked down, seeing his come smeared over Dean's back and coating his own stomach from where they had been pressed together. They were filthier now than when they'd gotten in the shower in the first place and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle a bit in spite of himself.

The two quickly got down to the business of actually washing, soon emerging from the bathroom clean and fresh and grinning and then somehow got through the act of dressing, though Sam tried his hardest to take Dean's clothes off as soon as he had put them on.

Dean patiently swatted away each attempt, finally grasping Sam's hands in his own. "I really have to go, Sammy," he said softly, bringing his hands up to kiss across Sam's knuckles. He absolutely could not be late to softball practice.

Sam nodded, an indecipherable emotion flashing across his face before Dean could really process it, and he let Dean's hands go gently before leading him to the door.

"If you ever wanna, uh, hit me up sometime," Sam said awkwardly, carding a hand through his still damp hair, "You've got my number."

Dean grinned his thousand-watt smile and gripped a hand over the back of Sam's neck, yanking him forward and smashing a heated kiss to his mouth. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to Sam's. "You bet your ass I'm gonna call," he whispered.

He left a dazed and smiling Sam in the doorway and very nearly skipped his way to the elevator at the end of the hall, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sam sat back in his office chair with a huff, scrubbing roughly at his over-tired eyes then staring out at the massive accumulation of files and papers strewn across his desk. It had been almost a week since he had seen Dean out of his front door the morning after they’d first met and Sam, much to his frustration, had been thrust into a nightmare of a case as soon as he had gotten back to work. He had been absolutely swamped ever since and had had to stay late at the office every single night. Tonight was no exception.

They’d been trading texts, pics and short conversations since Sunday but public transit was not the best place for private conversation and Dean was already tucked in bed by the time Sam was free to talk. It wasn’t the same and, as hard as it was for him to admit it, he missed Dean. He grabbed his cell and swiped it open, the memory of that first nervous text message replaying in his head.

Sam had tapped out a long message with 'how's going?' and 'thanks for the night' only to delete the whole thing in favor of a short 'hi.' An incoming text had dinged almost as he’d hit send and he actually gave a fist pump when he realized it was from Dean, each finally giving in and messaging at the same time.

**great minds** \- Dean’s second text had read.

_id say so_ \- was Sam’s reply, an unseen and flushed smile on his lips.

His phone now felt like a lifeline and his only link to that one perfect night and he found himself cradling it often, waiting for the next ding to signal Dean’s attention. Oh man did he have it bad. With a sigh, he pulled up Dean’s last text and sent off another reply. 

_late nights suck_

He set the phone down but it chirped before he could grab the next file.

**not all late nights suck**

_good point. late nights at work suck_

Sam took a look at his watch, eight thirty five. Dean would be up for at least another half hour so he shot off the next message.

_feel like a chat?_

Sam’s phone rang in reply and he accepted the call with a smile, sinking back in his chair.

"Hi, Sammy," Dean said softly, both the deep timbre of his voice and the pet name sending pleasant tingles curling all through his body.

"Hey," Sam replied, bringing up his free hand to loosen the knot in his tie and unbutton his collar. He let out a sigh when he felt like he could finally breathe.

"You doin' alright there, baby boy?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, just settling in for the long haul," Sam said. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, trying to soothe his tense muscles as he looked out over the mess on his desk again, lit only by a small circle light from his desktop lamp. "Tryin' to get everything together for the deposition tomorrow."

Sam heard Dean make a soft noise of understanding and he shifted a bit in his chair. "Listen, Dean," he began, voice low and apologetic, "I'm really sorry about my screwed up schedule this week. I promise I'll make it up to you."

Dean chuckled lightly, the rough cadence of the sound slipping warmly about Sam's middle, and said, "Hey, man, I already told you it's fine. I totally get it." He paused for a moment and Sam thought maybe he was about to say goodbye. “So,” he continued, “You all by yourself there in the office?”

Sam glanced at his watch, seeing it was nearing nine and knew that not even the cleaning crew would be in the building anymore. “Yeah,” he answered with a small, slightly confused laugh.

“Oh.” Dean hummed and Sam could hear the shift and shuffle of his clothes. “I bet it’s kinda lonely, huh? No one there to keep you company, except your great big desk? You must be working really hard there, Sammy.”

Sam swallowed, feeling a hot blush rise to his cheeks, and let out a weak chuckle. “Dude, are you trying to turn me on right now?”

He could hear the grin in Dean’s voice when he asked, “What do you think, Sammy?”

Sam squeezed his thighs together slightly at the pressure he suddenly felt gathering in his lower belly with the rush of desire those five little words caused. He licked his lips. “I, uh, I’ve never…I don’t know if I, um...”

“Sammy,” Dean said, frank seriousness edging into his tone, and Sam fell silent. “I want you to ask me to have phone sex with you.”

Sam choked out a cough, reaching down to adjust the growing erection in his slacks. “What, really? Like right now?”

“Ask me,” Dean ordered.

Hot sparks of arousal arrowed straight down to Sam’s cock at the command and he nodded, though Dean could not see him. “O- okay,” he stammered, “Will you?”

“Will I what?” Dean asked, obviously urging Sam to elaborate.

The blush on Sam’s cheeks deepened and he pulled in a shaky breath. He hadn’t ever done anything like this before, well not counting the time last week when he had jacked off in his office during fucking business hours. He had never had phone sex before, much less asked someone for it. But he, again, found himself exploring and indulging more sides to himself than he knew even existed before he met Dean.

“Will you have phone sex with me, Dean?” he asked, forcing the eager tremor from his voice.

“Atta boy,” Dean crooned. A faint grunt quickly followed and Sam could clearly hear the sound of Dean undoing his fly, the sound forcing a moan from Sam.

"I've been thinking about you and your dick all week, Sammy. And every time, I get hard and heavy and have to just rub one out. Every time." Dean sighed, his breath heavy against the mic. "How 'bout you? Think of me at all?"

Sam nodded again before answering, his hand pressing the hard line of his erection. He could hear the change in Dean's breathing, the rhythm going deep and long, hissed out between his teeth. Sam forgot how much he'd liked hearing him enjoying pleasure.

"Yeah," Sam admitted with a smile, his embarrassment clear in his voice. "Yeah, I did." He gave himself a hard squeeze, the memory of Dean's tight heat finally filling his length completely.

The vibration from Dean's knowing chuckle tickled Sam's ear and he let out a huff. "That monster cock better be out, Sammy. You're so fucking beautiful when you're hard, all pink and wet. Come on, baby boy, you're touching yourself right now, right?"

Sam almost dropped his cell in his hurry to comply, his button and zipper suddenly alien technology. He moaned his relief when he finally gripped his erection for a full stroke.

"Tell me what you miss, Sammy." Dean's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Talk to me."

Sam flushed again. It was easy to talk dirty when he was balls deep but, alone in his office, he was suddenly shy and tongue tied. His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish before he gulped and stuttered a few cheesy lines, his ears going hot when Dean all but belly laughed at him.

“Relax, Sam,” Dean instructed letting the humor die away, his voice now an anchor. “Close your eyes, think of me and tell me what you see.”

Sam followed his direction, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Several images floated to the surface - Dean’s face, his lips, shoulders - all of which made him ooze onto his palm. It took Sam a moment to sort through and settle on one fantasy, Dean’s soft breathing sparking inspiration. He cleared his throat and answered Dean’s question in earnest.

"The sound you make when I first go in makes me crazy," he started. "You take a short, deep breath and your body just pulls at me. I wanna go slow every time, Dean, I swear, but god you feel so good and tight. Like you're gonna crush my dick in a vise."

Sam felt his hips jerk at the memory but Dean gasped and a white hot flash of pleasure zinged to his toes and then straight up his spine. He slowed his hand, drawing out the sensations.

"That's good, baby boy." Dean's praise curled his toes and he spoke again.

"I wanna touch you soft but I just can't. I need to mark you up and fuck you hard. I want you to remember that I was there."

Sam slouched further in his chair flattening his back against the seat and sprawling his legs under the desk. Another thought came to him and he voiced it, timidity a laughable concept now.

"I can't wait to bend you over my desk and pound away. Just toss all this bullshit work right on the floor and shove my cock so far up your ass you'll taste my cum."

He heard Dean grunt and the sound made him see stars. He slowed his pace again but whispered, "I'm close."

Dean's answering growl rocketed down through his hips to the tip he was teasing. He opened his mouth to speak again but Dean's baritone cut him short.

"God damn, Sammy, I fuckin' need you now. I got it bad, boy, and I need to fuck you right back." The change made Sam stutter out a moan and Dean continued. "I swear, you let me and I'll pay every orgasm right back. I'll let you take a turn on my cock and pull your hair and ride you hard, Sammy, ride you as hard as you rode me."  

The rhythmic sound of flesh on flesh came through the phone and echoed Sam's pace. The vision of Dean buried inside him, his own hole stretched and aching around Dean's cock, pulled his balls tight, the promise of release just a breath away.

"And you'll fucking love it, baby boy."

The last words were a guttural growl that Sam felt more than heard as his orgasm finally took hold of him. He did drop his phone as the first hard wave hit him and his other hand crawled down to clamp his balls, a pinky teasing his own hole.

White strings of come rocketed out of his cock,  spattering wetly onto the carpet between his spread knees and dripping down onto his slacks. He gingerly pulled his finger from his spasming entrance but kept stroking himself through the quaking aftershocks and fumbled to pick up his phone.

"Dean," he gasped hoarsely, pressing his cell back to his ear to hear Dean panting rapidly, and Sam knew he was at the very edge, needing only a push to send him flying. "Dean," he said again, his voice pitched low and urgent,  "I made such a fuckin' mess. My cum is everywhere. God I wish you were here to help me clean it all up."

Sam could hear the very second Dean lost control, that gasping breath that cut off sharply and returned as a harsh moan. "Ah fuck, Sammy," he groaned unevenly.

A second tremor wracked through Sam at the sound of Dean coming undone and a weak spurt of cum dribbled from his softening cock, splashing down across his knuckles. He brought his hand up to his mouth, licking the salty spend from his fing

ers with wet slurps.

"Tastes good, Dean," he rasped, "but not nearly as good as you."

A strangled cough sounded on the other end of the line and Sam chuckled, sitting up in his chair to grab a few tissues from the box on his desk. They were both quiet for a few moments as they caught their breath, Sam feeling a soothing calm wash through him with each slowing inhale and exhale he heard from Dean's end.

Sam gently folded his limp cock back into his boxers and wiped up the drying cum from his slacks. "Dean, that was amazing," he said softly, not attempting to hide the wonder in his voice.

"You're telling me," Dean replied with a small laugh. Sam could hear the swishing sound of a cloth on the other end of the line and could picture Dean cleaning himself off as well. He felt such an abrupt and strong desire to be there with him that his chest ached, the longing almost painful.

They fell into an easy silence again and Sam was about to say goodbye when Dean suddenly spoke up, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic insecurity when he said, “So, uh, you should definitely come to the softball game I’m coaching tomorrow. Y’know, if you’re not busy or anything. Which I, um, know you’ve been freakin’ swamped at work and all. But y’know, if you have time or whatever.”

It felt so different for Sam to actually not be the awkward one that he was struck speechless for a moment. Awkward Dean was definitely adorable. Sam quickly found his words, clearing his throat to hide a chuckle. “Hell yeah, man. I should be able to swing that. What time?”

He could hear Dean puff out a deep breath and smiled, sitting up straighter in his chair, pride swelling his chest at the thought of making oh-so-confident Dean nervous. He grabbed a pencil and paper to write down the time and location of the game while Dean rattled off the information with just a barely audible hint of nervous excitement thrumming through his voice. When they ended their call, murmured 'ok's' and 'see you then's' done, Sam bolted up from his seat for a jump and shake to celebrate. So what, he knocked over his empty coffee cup and a stack of files. He was gonna see Dean again.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice, long chapter for all our loyal readers! Plus fan art at the end!!! ^U^ Enjoy, you lovely people! ;)

Dean called a timeout and made his way to the mound. Krissy Chambers, his star pitcher, was trying her best to ignore him as he drew closer but he was having none of her attitude today.

“I know he’s a douche,” he started, finally standing next to her at the mound, “but if you bean him, he walks to first, we get an error and it’ll be your third this season. Know what that means?”

She looked down at her feet as she dug the toe of her cleat into the red clay. She was a smart kid but a raw deal at home had left her with a chip the size of a bowling ball on her shoulder. As soon as her ex swaggered up to the plate, Dean knew she was gonna land one right between his eyes. He waited for her to reply, knowing she’d give in to rational thought eventually.

“It means I’ll get benched the rest of the season,” she finally replied, still gazing at her feet to hide her pain.

“You’ll get benched,” he repeated. “That’s not fair to the rest of the team, is it? They work so hard to get those runs and catch everything that gets past you. Now you gotta kick in and buck up for them, okay?”

He knew Krissy was loyal, almost to a fault, and she’d put her team before her need for revenge. Dean knew the sting of infidelity, even for a teenager it hurts, but this team was Krissy’s best shot at college. He was not going to let her attitude get in the way of that.

He smiled when she finally nodded, blinking back the tears of teenaged heartbreak.

“Besides,” he reassured her, “if you strike him out, we can TP his house this weekend and he won’t see it coming.”

When her eyes lit up, Dean felt a rush of pride. He loved these kids more than he could admit out loud, and giving her a different option for blowing off steam was way more than any adult had done for him at that age. After a brief fist bump, Dean made his way back to the dugout to watch as the game resumed.

Benny Lafitte, Dean’s boss and assistant coach, pulled up and leaned against the rail to watch with him.

“Is she gonna bean him?” he asked, his Louisiana drawl heavy, a full day of work and an evening of softball making him tired.

“Nope,” Dean smiled and winked at Benny as Krissy earned the first strike, “I promised we’d TP his house if she can strike him out.”

“Damn, brother,” Benny laughed and then let out a hoot as her second strike sailed past the boy at bat. “You sure do have a way with these kids.”

“Yeah well,” Dean grinned but looked up into the stands when the batter took a step away from the plate. His coach was jogging over so Dean could spare a moment to look for Sam again. He’d missed the first two innings already and he knew six may be too early for him but seeing Sam waving at him with a hotdog in one hand and a ball cap in other made his heart flip-flop. Dean actually blushed and nodded back, suddenly shy about this part of his life. He played the bad boy for so long that his good side made him squirm when inspected.

Benny calling out encouragements drew Dean’s attention back to the field and he watched Krissy prepare her pitch. She planted her feet perpendicular to the plate and pointed her glove just as Dean had drilled her. She rolled her shoulder, swung her arm back and then forward letting the ball fly towards the plate like a bullet. That poor boy never stood a chance.

When the umpire called the third strike and Dean’s Blue Jays turn at bat , the crowd erupted with cheers and Krissy turned toward the dugout, her face a awash with surprise and joy. Dean was immediately out of the dugout and at the mound scooping her up into a bone crushing hug, his own cheers carrying over that of the crowd. He let her go quickly and looked her in the eye.

“You did it!” he gushed, “You kept your cool and struck that dumb ass out.” He dragged her back to the dugout, the outfielders running to keep up. “See, you didn’t have to hit him to let him know how strong you are. You’re so much better than that now.”

When they stepped across the line, Krissy was swarmed by the rest of her teammates, each congratulating her for “kicking his sorry ass.” He stood back for a moment, letting the team and Benny celebrate before turning a thumbs up to the Sam in the crowd. He was suddenly bursting to tell him about these kids, wanting him to take as much pride in their successes as he did.

The celebration was finally brought to an end as a call from the umpire had Dean’s batter jogging to the plate, an earful of instruction from Benny fresh in his head.

Sam put his ball cap on and pulled the brim down to shield his eyes from the intense late afternoon sunshine, returning Dean’s thumbs up as he continued to watch the game raptly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a ball game - his high school days maybe? Certainly not in college; he had been too busy with is pre-law classes then. Now though, he hoped to have more time for things like this, especially now that he had Dean to do these things _with_.

Sam’s gaze shifted easily to him, his eyes seemingly drawn by the enticing sight of Dean in his baseball uniform, white pants hugging all the right places, dark blue on white accentuating his broad shoulders. He was too busy watching Dean tilt his head back to swig a bottle of water, the pink of his lips plain from the stands, to follow the batter’s run to first. Dean’s smile was easy and stunning as he watched the other coach talk to the next batter, a girl almost as tall as the two men. She nodded, grim determination on her face, and marched to the plate.

What was it about Dean that just drew people to him? Sam was impressed with how the kids really seemed to listen to him, not just the pitcher, but each player was taking a turn at talking and joking with him. Even the other coach, ‘Coach Benny’ his jersey read, was caught by Dean’s charm, his laugh carrying over from the dugout. They both yelled encouragements to the batter and Sam turned his attention back to the game.

The first pitch zipped past her but the crack of the second pitch against the bat echoed across the field and now there were two runners on base. The next two batters received the same one-on-one attention before making their way to plate only to be struck out. Sam found  himself on the edge of his seat cheering and jeering along with the parents and grandparents in the seats around him. When the next batter hit a homerun, bringing himself and the two runners home, Sam jumped to his feet with the rest of the crowd, waving his arms and yelling with more exuberance than he’d felt in far too long.

And so the innings went, each player working hard to load the bases and strike out batters. Sam learned that the pregnant woman to his left was Dean’s left fielder’s sister and the family to his right was representing the foster kid holding down third base for him. Sam also found himself tossing his arms up for the wave and singing along to the recording of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” as it was blasted over the PA system during the seventh inning stretch. He was having a blast.

All the while, Sam’s eyes kept wandering back to the dugout, sometimes admiring his coach, sometimes sharing a smile with him. But for as much fun as Sam had been having, he couldn’t help but notice again how close Dean seemed to be with Benny and a dark curiosity began to whisper at the back of his mind - a dismal remnant of those days when he had felt so utterly undeserving. Did the occasional touches and taps between the two linger longer than they should have? Was Benny pressing close to Dean's side when we whispered in his ear before turning to the next batter, or was Sam just imaging it?

The nagging doubts and uncertainties tied Sam's gut into a painful knot tighter and tighter with each touch and smile shared between the two and it wasn't long before his attention was taken completely off the game altogether.

By the end of the seventh and final inning, the Blue Jay’s had lost the lead they won back in the fourth, 6-4 Dragons, but had a runner on second and third with just one out against them. Sam's attention _should_ have been on the last inning but instead his focus and scrutinization was drawn solely to the interactions unfolding in the dugout. It made him so unsettled to think that only knowing Dean for one damn week could make him feel the burn of jealousy so hotly in his chest. He hadn't ever met another man like Dean, so it wasn't really any wonder that he affected Sam so strongly, was it?

Sam swiped absently at a bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek as the sun continued to beat down on him. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to slow his heart where it thudded with a dull ache deep in his chest. Rational thought worked itself in weakly, trying to convince Sam that maybe he was overreacting just a little, but was quickly smothered by the sight of Benny, a wide grin curving his mouth, bringing a hand down to lay a firm slap right on Dean's ass. Sam sat unmoving and numb as the rest of the crowd around him erupted in an encouraging applause that Sam could not hope to even think of participating in.

Rubbing his backside, Dean watched Benny run out to give Clive last minute instruction, the same he’d given Miranda, stay relaxed and focus on the ball, hit what you can and run hard. They only had one out now so they had time to get the runners home and tie it up. He was thrilled that his kids were playing this well at Sam’s first game, his personal excitement spreading to the kids and Benny. Dean took a seat, grimaced, then stood back up, practically hopping in place when Benny jogged back to his spot in the dugout.

“Brother, this is a great game,” he laughed at Dean, “but you got ants in your pants to go along with that smart mouth. What is your deal? We’re only midseason.”

Dean placed a hand on Benny’s shoulder and leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “I got a hot date after the game and it’ll rock oh so much harder if we win.”

“Damn but I should have guessed,” Benny chuckled and threw his arm over Dean’s shoulder and planted a hard slap to his chest. “You get more ass than a two-dollar hooker. Cheap and easy just like one too.”

“Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful,” Dean sassed back, walking back to the rail to watch Clive take a swing and a miss. “You’re just mad you ain’t as pretty as me.”

“Damn straight, brother,” Benny agreed, and then called an adjustment to Clive’s stance.

The rest of the team, nine others total, lined the railing next to the coaches. A home run would win it for them but, although Clive hit the homerun in the fourth, he hadn’t gotten two in one game before. The odds were against it but Dean felt like this just might be the game where it happened for him. Sam was here and that was like magic.

The whole field was quiet as the pitcher took his time on his windup, concentration making his face solemn. Clive cracked his neck, shook his head and then stepped back to the plate. The first ball had sailed passed, but Dean could see his determination to make the next swing count. When Dean saw the curveball heading to the plate, he puffed out a breath and readied for a strike, his fingers wiping sweat from his upper lip, but just then Clive hit the ball and it flew in a perfect arc and Dean jumped onto the rail, screaming for his kids to run.

Sasha crossed the plate first followed close by Daniel. When Clive slid into home, the catcher’s glove missing him by inches, the crowd and dugout alike erupted, kids spilling onto the field to celebrate followed closely by their coaches. Dean hollered his excitement to his kids, pulling Clive in for a bear hug then doling out high fives all around. He looked back to the stands as the exhilaration started to die down, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam in the celebrating crowd, and saw a flash of long chestnut hair as Sam turned to squeeze behind the people beside him. Dean grinned broadly, thinking how to best tell him about his little surprise, but was quickly tugged back into the group of cheering kids before he could do much more that try to give Sam a little beckoning wave. He saw Benny slip away to greet the parents as they started making their way toward their children.

Sam tried slipping by the crush of the crowd around him as politely as he could without jostling anyone or drawing too much attention to himself when all he wanted to do was shove everyone out of the way and make a fucking beeline straight for his car in the parking lot. His face burned with embarrassment and anger from having to watch the far too friendly exchanges between Dean and his assistant coach and he huffed out a bitter laugh as he came to the bottom of the steps of the the bleachers. He felt like a damn idiot for thinking that a guy as gorgeous and charming as Dean would be interested in him and _only_ him.

He came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the stairs when Benny moved to stand before him, partially blocking his way. Benny grinned outright and offered his hand. “I thought I knew all the parents and guardians of our kiddos,” he said loudly to be heard over the commotion, “Which one do you belong to?”

Sam shook his hand, forcing a tight smile to his lips and gave a short nod to where Dean was out on the field, surrounded by his team. “That one,” he said tensely, pointing to the center of the mob. “I’m with Dean.”

Something akin surprised understanding ticked across Benny’s face, immediately tugging his grin into thoughtful frown then up into a smirk, and Sam knew he’d outstayed his welcome.

“Nice to meet you,” he choked out cordially and bolted for the parking lot leaving Benny staring slack jawed after him.

Dean looked up from congratulating the group just as Benny walked over, glancing to the bleacher seats over Benny’s shoulder but not seeing Sam anywhere. Benny read his confusion easily.

“If you’re lookin’ for your hot date, you might try that a way. The man took off like a damn bat outta hell,” he said, jerking his thumb in the general direction Sam had just fled. “Why didn’t you tell me you was seeing someone? He coulda sat in the dugout with us.”

Confusion and worry instantly deflated Dean’s excitement and he quickly turned to Benny. “It’s a new thing, man,” he admitted, worry creasing his brow. “I gotta go. You be okay to get these guys taken care of?”

“I got this,” Benny assured with a laugh. “Andrea’s holding tables for us already. My baby girl will miss you but I hate all that attention she gives you instead of me anyway.”

Dean smirked but was off, jogging as fast as he was able _comfortably_ , pushing through the throng of people exiting the stands. He caught a glimpse of Sam just as he was getting into his car and rushed over before he could drive away.

He tapped on Sam’s driver’s side window right as he turned the engine over and Sam jumped, his cheeks and ears flushing a deep angry red. Sam looked at him through the glass, his brows drawing together with a look that worried Dean even more, and slowly rolled down the window.

“Sam, hey, what’s going on? Where are you going?” Dean asked, a little breathless from his jog from the field.

Sam glanced away, dragging a hand through his hair, before looking back up at Dean. “It’s nothing. I just...I just wanna go home. It’s been a really, _really_ long day for me.”

Dean felt a twinge of disappointment, still not understanding Sam’s sudden change, but decided to press on. “Why don’t you come to my place?” he asked, an enticing smile curling up one side of his mouth.

Sam scoffed, shaking his head and tightening his hands over the steering wheel. Dean bent forward carefully, leaning his forearms on the warm car door, watching as the sunset drenched Sam’s face and hair in a wash of red and yellow and pink light. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, “Something I’ve been waiting to show you all day. Will you please just follow me to my house?”

Sam looked back at his hands, still feeling the painful stab of jealousy cutting at his insides. Seeing Dean so obviously close to someone else had made him feel so uncontrollably upset and foolish and all he really wanted to do was run away and hide. But then he remembered that they had never actually agreed to be mutually _exclusive_ , and even though the sex between them was amazing, Dean had never really hinted at something long term, had he?

Sam glanced to Dean then back to his hands, letting one fall to the gear shift, and nodded begrudgingly without looking over at him. “Okay,” he bit out, pride still bruised and aching.

Dean grinned and thumped the car door before pushing back and jogging, Sam noticed, a little unsteadily toward his Impala. Sam rolled his eyes to the roof of his car and huffed out a harsh sigh, pushing into drive and following Dean out of the parking lot.

He tried to calm himself on the seemingly endless drive to Dean’s house, telling himself that he was being irrational and unreasonable, but every time he got close to getting himself under control he remembered the way Dean had smiled at Benny, the way they had acted so goddamn _easy_ with each other, and he boiled over once again, that deep seated self-doubt bubbling right to the surface. Why would Dean even waste his time with a guy like Sam anyways? Because he had nothing better to do?

The questions kept eating at him and by the time he turned onto the long gravel driveway that led to a small house behind a large copse of trees, Sam was nearly consumed with a burning indignation. He skidded his car to a stop beside the Impala, throwing up a cloud of dust into the darkening twilight cloaking the clearing and tore out of the driver’s seat. Dean looked over at him with a smile that quickly faded when he saw the anger etching hard lines into Sam’s face.

“Look man, _what_ is bothering you? You gotta talk to me here.” Dean spread his hands out in a pleading gesture and then hooked his thumbs in his belt loops when Sam started to make his way around the hood of his car to where Dean stood.

“You wanna know what’s bothering me?” Sam said, voice pitched low but echoing into the early evening stillness surrounding them. He crossed and then uncrossed his arms, deciding to instead slam his hands down on his hips. “How ‘bout we start with the game tonight, Dean? I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I really thought there was something special going on here between us.” He blushed hotly, feeling like maybe he was revealing too much of himself but not knowing how to backtrack, or if he even wanted to.

Dean looked taken aback and he started to lean back against the Impala before blinking rapidly and straightening up again. “What are you talking about? What happened at the game?” Dean’s eyes searched Sam’s face, no sign of comprehension in his expression at all.

Sam barked out a short, incredulous laugh. “Benny, Dean!” he said. “I saw the way you guys were together! What the hell is the point of stringing me along like this?”

Dean’s eyes went wide and Sam’s heart plummeted, skipping a few beats as he waited only for Dean to voice the truth so he could cut his losses and just fucking leave already. And then Dean started to laugh, earnest giggles that quickly turned into hearty chuckles. Sam’s frown deepened and it was his turn to show no signs of comprehension.

“ _Benny?!_ ” Dean finally said. “You think me and _Benny_ …? We've been friends since college. Sam, he’s my boss!" Dean’s face suddenly turned somber. “I wouldn’t… Sammy, I wouldn’t ever do something like that to you, I swear.”

A sudden rush of understanding and then shame flooded through Sam as Dean’s words sunk in and it left him feeling lacking but also relieved, hollow yet full, and he advanced on Dean rapidly, closing the distance between them with one long stride. He hooked one hand behind Dean’s neck, roughly pulling him forward, so close that their noses almost touched.

“You swear?” he rasped.

Dean nodded, the deep emerald pools of his eyes depthless in the dusky light. “Yes,” he said.

The word barely passed his lips before Sam was turning him and bending him over the hood of the Impala behind him. He let out a surprised grunt and then a laugh, hands splaying out over the glossy, black paint beneath him, as Sam pressed up against his ass, instantly and achingly rock hard. Sam covered Dean’s body with his own, bringing his mouth to the back of Dean’s neck, nipping at the soft skin and short hairs there, before his lips found the velvety curve of Dean’s ear, a desperate whine in his voice.

“I can't stand seeing anyone else's hands on you, Dean. It makes me fucking crazy, you know that?”

Dean groaned roughly, arching back against Sam. “Won't happen again, Sammy," he panted, the sincerity in his voice making Sam's heart thud painfully against his ribcage.

Sam growled and pushed up from Dean's back, threading his long fingers into Dean's hair and giving a hard tug, earning a hiss and a deep rumbling chuckle from Dean beneath him. He thrust his hips forward, nudging his erection against the curve of Dean’s supple cheeks hidden under his stark white baseball pants, breathing in a deep shuddering breath of the intermingling scents of jasmine and orange blossom and _Dean_ that permeated the darkening clearing. But his hard cock found something equally as hard as he pumped forward and he suddenly stilled, pulling back with a bemused grunt. His hands came to rest on Dean's hips and he rolled his groin forward experimentally, again feeling that hard resistance pushing back.  

"Dean, is that...?" Sam let the question fall away, feral fucking desire ratcheting his arousal even higher, and he scrambled to reach beneath Dean to undo his pants and shove them down over the curve of that luscious ass.

Dean shifted beneath him, chuckling and rolling his hips back. "I told you I had a surprise for you, baby boy."

The sight he was treated to then, with Dean bent over the hood of his car, his pants and underwear pulled down to his thighs, and a big shiny metal anal plug shoved in his ass and stretching his rim had Sam very nearly coming in his slacks like a goddamn teenager.

"D - did you wear this all day?" Sam choked, bringing a hand down to rub two fingers around the wide flat base, completely and utterly awestruck.

Dean shuddered at the touch, his stretched hole clenching around the plug, and he let out a needy moan before he could bite it back. He had been so excited about seeing Sam again that he had taken his time that morning, painstakingly stretching himself enough to work the plug snugly inside, wanting to make it easy for Sam to just push that beautiful cock right in. Each subtle shift of his body had reminded him that the plug was there, each movement a sweet promise of the fullness and pleasure that was to come.

"Yeah, Sammy. All day," he said. "I wanted to be ready for you."

There was suddenly the pressure of Sam's fingers pressing against the base of the plug,  giving it a shallow push, and Dean gasped. The rounded tip rubbed right along the hard knot of his prostate and a thick spurt of precome dribbled from his engorged cock where it was trapped against the car. He rocked back with a deep groan, seeking more of Sam's touch and let out a frustrated whimper when he felt Sam draw back.

But then the sound of a zipper and the rustling of clothes behind him, followed quickly by the crinkling of a condom being opened, hit Dean's ears like a sweet, sweet song, nearly drowning him in the anticipation of being filled in that way that only Sam could offer. It was a fullness Dean had craved all fucking week and couldn't come close to replicating, even with the various sized dildos he had used as a feeble substitute on all those nights he was alone in his bed.

He _yearned_ for Sam and with an intensity that kind of scared him, if he was being completely honest with himself. He had _never_ felt a strong connection to anyone like he did with Sam, a guy he'd known for barely a week. It was almost like they had known each other in a past life, like they had shared an unbreakable bond, like they had been through hell and back together.

Dean shook the thoughts away, forcing his mind to focus on the here and now and not the significance of what those thoughts might really mean for him, for _them_ , and arched his back, trying to thrust his ass closer to Sam.

"C'mon, man," he said, wriggling his hips encouragingly, "I need to feel you. I need you to fill me up, Sammy, _please_."

One of Sam's hands, large and warm, grasped his hip in a tight hold, while the other gripped the base of the plug buried in his ass. Sam rocked it back and forth a few times, eliciting from Dean the most pitiful sobs and pleas.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam said, his voice tight and raw, "I could never get tired of hearing the sounds you make. _Never_."

And with that he tugged the plug out. It slid out with a wet noise, momentarily stretching Dean's rim even more as the bulbous head was removed, and Dean hissed sharply at the burn. Sam rubbed soothing circles on Dean's hip with his thumb, even as he sunk his cock into Dean's gaping hole with a deeply penetrating thrust, bottoming out fully on that first brutal plunge.

Dean cried out, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth metal beneath him, his back bowing with the perfection of Sam's cock, so thick and long, finally stuffed deep inside him. He brought a hand back, tangling his fingers with Sam's on his hip, holding on tightly as Sam began pumping in and out of him with jarring strokes.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the sound of Sam's grunts reverberating all around him, smelling the cloying and intoxicating scent of sex seeping into his fucking pores, feeling Sam's dick pounding into the overwrought bundle of nerves inside his throbbing channel with every thrust. It all piled on top of him, crushing him with sensation, dragging him to the very cusp of orgasm.

And then Sam's hand was snaking under him, wrapping around his neglected and leaking dick, twisting and pulling in a rhythm that nearly matched those of Sam's cock as it pummeled into him. It only took three full strokes of Sam's hand and Dean was coming, coming so fucking _hard_ , bucking back onto Sam's dick and screaming his name in a broken shout as forceful jets of cum erupted out of him.

His hole squeezed tightly around Sam's dick with the spasms that quaked through his whole body and Sam groaned loudly, letting go of Dean's cock to grasp both hips for leverage, pounding into Dean frantically with thrusts that rocked the Impala on her struts.

And then Sam pulled Dean's ass flush against him abruptly, pushing in as deep as he could go, emptying his spend into the condom, filling and expanding it with a tremendous load of cum that Dean wished was actually filling _him_. He wanted Sam's come inside him, he wanted it spilling out of him. The desire was so strong and indescribably vivid that he started coming all over again before Sam had even pulled out, draining what little cum there was left in his dick down the side panel of his car, his body shaking uncontrollably and hopelessly spent.

Sam buried his face between Dean’s shoulder blades and let out the heavy breath he’d been holding when he came, his panting then hot against Dean’s back. He squeezed his arms a little tighter around Dean’s powerful chest and then jumped when he felt a hand on his own.

“I should piss you off more often,” Dean teased, leaning his head back to touch Sam’s. He looked down at the mess on his precious car and his no-longer-bright-white uniform pants and chuckled again.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam’s voice was quiet but clear and he pulled out and away as Dean shuffled to turn to Sam. Instead of the hard anger or indignant pain he expected to cross Dean’s face, he saw a glimmer of understanding that he wasn’t quite ready for.

“No way, Sammy,” Dean chided patiently. “No backing down now. I like you pissed off and grabby. No guilt trips allowed.” Dean pulled Sam to him, mess and all, and leaned them both back against Baby. “Besides, I get all tingly when you take control like that.”

When a smile finally graced Sam’s face, Dean pulled him in for a kiss, tender and giving compared to the frantic coupling a moment before. Sam nodded his amused agreement but sighed heavily before he spoke.

“I’m not sorry I just fucked you brains out,” Sam started, his smile turning shy.

Dean wiggled a finger in his ear and replied, “I got a few brain cells left and they are jealous.”

Sam frowned at Dean’s choice of words but continued, “But I am sorry I got so angry. I meant what I said and it’s really kind of scary, you know?”

Dean sobered instantly, the playful teasing he was trying falling away. He took Sam’s face in his hands and searched Sam’s colorful colorless eyes.

“I’m scared too, Sammy.” he confessed, “Because whatever we have between us, I feel it too and I’m not sure what to do about it yet. So, in the meantime, how about we get cleaned up and fed and then fuck some more?”

Sam smiled again, deeper this time, shaking his head. “Okay,” he conceded, “that sounds really great.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adorable and amazing art you see there at the end of this chapter was done by the lovely and incomparable kamidiox who can be found on tumblr: http://kamidiox.tumblr.com/ as well as deviant art: http://kamidiox.deviantart.com/  
> Isn't it just perfect?!!! *__*


	8. Chapter 8

When Sam crossed the threshold into Dean’s cabin, he expected a rustic mess that spoke to lots of partying and late nights and sex. He felt a bit guilty for the assumption when he saw the spartan organization of the space, the foyer opening to a large square room with doors leading presumably to bedrooms and bathroom on one side and an open aired kitchen separated by a long bar on the other. The hardwood floor was covered in thick and brightly colored throw rugs that accentuated the dark reds and creams of the lone couch and dining room table. Along one wall ran a large entertainment center with the usual suspects but it was the drafting table that drew Sam into the room.

Where a normal living room would house a love seat, stood a vintage architectural drafting table complete with wrought iron legs, hand crank and a smooth maplewood surface. The drafting machine was resting at the corner and several tools and cups of pencils and pens were lining the shelves.

“Wow,” Sam couldn’t keep the admiration from his voice. “This looks amazing.” His eyes swept over the work-in-progress drawing of an office building. The structure was a blend of harsh lines and supple curves that melted into what looked to be pond at the front of the building. It looked modern but inviting and Sam couldn’t help but lean down to inspect the details that Dean had been working on. “I can’t believe you walked away from this. You are really talented.”

Dean clenched his jaw against the praise, an expression Sam was too distracted to see, and stepped between Sam and the table.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I suck at office politics.” He hooked Sam’s hand in his own and tugged him into the kitchen. “If you think I’m great at designing buildings, you should see me design meals.”

He stopped in front of the industrial fridge and yanked the doors open proudly. He watched Sam’s eyes roam earnestly over the chopped vegetables and fresh herbs on the various shelves before leaning in and pulling down a pan of steaks.

“You’re not the only one who planned ahead,” Dean grinned wide and gestured to the duffle bag in Sam’s hand as he set the steaks on the counter. Sam’s blush made his heart beat double and he shooed the taller man away from the fridge as he headed back for more ingredients.

Sam’s eyes were incandescent as the meal Dean had planned fell into place, a steak and spinach salad with homemade Italian dressing? He was an amazing lover, great with kids _and_ he could cook? Was there no end to Dean’s hidden talents? Sam was suddenly very excited to find out what other secrets Dean was hiding.

He smiled to himself and set his duffle down beside the couch before making his way back to the kitchen, helping to set the table after Dean had pointed out which cupboards housed the appropriate dishes. Sam sat fascinated at the bar and watched Dean, barefoot now, as he seared and sliced the steaks and then plated the salads with flare and gusto. He turned the lights down low and handed Sam their beers as he ushered him to the table, plates in hand. Dean turned on his stereo letting mullet rock join the choirs of cicadas singing outside the kitchen window.

Sam heaped compliments on Dean when he got his first taste of the delicious meal and Dean blushed under the accolades, grinning and mumbling around a mouthful of food that next time it would be Sam's turn to cook. Sam agreed with a slight hesitancy and a nervous laugh, admitting to Dean what an absolutely awful cook he was, and Dean wasted no time in offering to teach him some of his favorite recipes, delighting Sam with the prospect of more dates.

An easy and comfortable silence fell between them, a soft power ballad serenading as they continued to eat. Dean was glad that Sam didn't ask him anymore about his past career, his past _life_. He knew he'd have to tell Sam at some point, he just didn't want to ruin what was growing between them, especially if that past was a completely different version of the man he was now, especially if it would change the way Sam thought of him.

Dinner began to wind down, dusk having come and gone, and Sam sat back in his chair, rubbing over his full and satisfied stomach. "That was amazing, Dean," he said, smiling across the table at him. "I haven't had a decent meal since I started on that case last week. Thank you."

He quickly brought up a hand to stifle a yawn and Dean chuckled, getting up from the table and making his way around to where Sam sat, standing behind him and settling his hands down on Sam's shoulders. He began kneading his fingers into the tight muscle there and grinned when he heard Sam let out a deep moan. He leaned forward, pressing a light kiss behind Sam's ear and stirring his hair with his breath.

"Why don't we leave the cleanup until tomorrow, baby boy? Let's go to bed," he whispered softly. The mess of empty plates and half drunk beer bottles could wait; Dean had more important work ahead of him.

He felt Sam melt under his hands and smiled when Sam nodded. He led him away from the table and across the living room, glancing back over his shoulder to see Sam give him a tired smile. He tugged Sam across the threshold and clicked on a bedside lamp. The warm light illuminated the room invitingly and Dean turned back to Sam where he stood swaying wearily beside the bed.

The man had had a hell of a damn week and Dean only wanted to take care of him for all the hard work he'd put in down at the courthouse. Dean had never known anyone as dedicated to their job as Sam was -- well maybe Dean himself had been before his life had hit rock bottom, but that was a whole lifetime ago, far too long for it to matter anymore.

In this moment, though, Dean wanted Sam to know his devotion to all those late nights wouldn't go unnoticed, least of all by him. Earlier in the driveway had been all about hunger and heat and rough intensity, but right now Dean wanted to give Sam soft and slow.

Sam began unbuttoning his dress shirt and Dean quickly brought a hand up, covering it over Sam's and stilling his movements. "Let me take care of you, Sammy," he said, looking up slowly.

He could see Sam's throat work as he swallowed and felt a warm rush of arousal wash over him gently when Sam's eyes darkened with desire in the low light. Sam's hands fell limply to his sides and Dean willed his fingers to stop trembling long enough to get the buttons undone. The few short days they had been together had felt so damn _frantic_ , but this, this was so much more intimate, in an almost daunting kind of way. They had already bared themselves to each other, physically speaking, but Dean suddenly found that he wanted to bear himself emotionally too, wanted to reveal everything about himself, even those dark, hidden parts, but stopped himself short. Going that far could do more irreparable damage than Dean was really ready to face and so he pushed away the desire before he could really act on it.

Dean finished undoing the last button on Sam's shirt and pulled it from his body tenderly then stood back to admire his muscular shoulders against the tank top undershirt. His skin was warm under Dean’s fingers as he traced the tank before pulling it up and over Sam’s head, depositing in on the floor with his dress shirt. He turned his giant charge and pushed him back to sit on the bed, Sam’s halfhearted protested shushed by a single line:

“Shut it, Sasquach.”

Dean pulled off his own jersey and then his pants before kneeling to slip off Sam’s socks, his shoes lost along the way just as Dean’s had been, using the material to clean the fluff from his feet. Dean was surprised to feel his heart thudding against his ribs at Sam’s breathy sigh, almost a sleepy sound. Taking care of Sam brought him almost as much joy as fucking him brought pleasure, more even.

Sam yawned once more as he reached out to pull Dean close for a sloppy kiss, parting with a laugh as Dean worked the belt and zipper of his slacks. Once they were both down to boxers, Dean slipped Sam under the covers then made the last rounds of the cabin, turning off the lights and locking the doors. He expected to see a giant snoozing puppy when he got back and was thrilled to see Sam propped up on his elbows, a lopsided grin making his hazel eyes sparkle. _My god, he’s beautiful._ Dean’s breath was stolen.

He quickly shucked his boxers and jumped in the bed alongside him, sliding under the light comforter and scooting close to where Sam was laying, turned over on his side now to face Dean. They were both quiet for a long moment, drinking in the sight of each other, before Dean raised up a hand, brushing a lock of hair from Sam's temple. Sam smiled that slow, easy smile again and Dean was suddenly and hopelessly lost to the tender emotions swelling inside him.

He cupped Sam's cheek and pressed his body close against him, slotting their lips together in a languid and gentle kiss that warmed him from the inside out. He coaxed Sam's mouth open and drank in a deep, deep taste. The sweetness of him, lingering and strong, melted across Dean's tongue and he moaned, knowing he could go the rest of his life and never again savor anything as delicious and mouthwatering as Sam.

He pulled back after a moment, pressing his forehead to Sam's and gasping for breath. Sam shuddered against him and echoed the sound of his panting breaths, little whimpers escaping when Dean threaded his hands into Sam's hair and tugged his head back gently to lay wet kisses to Sam's exposed neck.

"How do you get away with this hair, Sammy?" he asked, his tongue swiping across skin.

Sam groaned when Dean moved down to mouth over his collarbone, warm surges of desire thumping down to pool low in his belly with each press of those plump lips, and he brought a hand up to rub the curve of Dean's hip. His growing erection pressed insistently against Dean's stomach and he tried to push Dean over onto his back, the intention of straddling his hips and plunging down on his cock driving his movements.

Dean pulled back from where he was suckling on Sam's nipple to shake his head lightly. "Let me take care of you, baby boy," he said again.

Sam could only nod. How could me refuse an offer like that? He let out a slow sigh and let Dean roll him into his back and then slide over and between his open legs. Another moan filtered from Sam's throat at the touch and his dick pushed tighter against the restrictive fabric of his boxers. Dean’s weight on him applied perfect pressure and he rocked his body up into pleasure, savoring Dean’s wet mouth on his chest.

“I missed you,” Dean whispered against Sam’s skin as he inched his way down. He didn’t do sappy but tonight felt so different. He turned his mossy eyes up to Sam as he dipped his tongue into his navel, both hopeful and afraid that his vulnerability would show. And then it was there, the insistent hunger wrapped in tender warmth that made Sam so irresistible, feral and childlike in one body.

“Oh man,” Sam’s words washed over him as he was pushed up and back for another luscious kiss. “I wanted to see you all week, Dean. I was going crazy.”

Satisfied, Dean pushed him back down and let his own hot breath wash over Sam’s hard member before speaking again.

“Gonna make up for lost time,” he promised, then spread his lips over Sam’s swollen head, the tight fabric seasoned with precum. His desire to tease was quickly overtaken by his need to please and he pulled Sam’s boxers down and off, spreading his legs wide to admire him like a treasure.

When he dipped his head again, it was with a singular purpose - to ready his precious Sammy. Wrapping his arms around Sam's thighs, Dean lapped at the skin at the crook of his thigh before nuzzling and suckling his sac. Sam’s scent was intoxicating and he took a deep drag even as he rolled one of his balls in his mouth.

Sam’s legs fell further apart and he groaned in appreciation. When Dean’s tongue teased lower, his groan turned into a grunt and he arched his back, a whispered ‘please’ carrying down to Dean. It was all the permission he needed. Dean pushed Sam’s legs up to open his tender hole to his wicked wishes.

As Dean’s tongue made its first pass, Sam gripped his thighs, holding himself open. He wanted to be shy, but his need for what Dean had offered yesterday, what he was offering now, was too tempting to ignore. To lay back and let waves of bliss roll up his spine and across his skin was heaven, an indulgence he’d so rarely explored. As his muscles relaxed and invited Dean’s fingers, Sam fought to keep his breathing even, his dripping cock swaying in time to his gasping breaths.

“Please,” he whispered again. He knew full well and yet was completely ignorant of what he was asking for. Just release...or more? Ownership? Partnership?

“I know, baby boy,” Dean crooned as he moved back up Sam’s body, “I know. But not yet, Sammy. Hold it off for me. You can do it, okay?”

And then he was being turned over onto his other side with Dean's body heat seeping into his back and the soft stroke of Dean's hand along his side sending wave after wave of passion flowing over him. He arched back, feeling the hard nudge of Dean’s cock against his ass, but suddenly stilled.

“Protection?” he asked with a needy rasp, the hand he didn’t have resting under his head gripping into the sheets.

“Way ahead of you,” Dean said, the sound of ripping foil punctuating the last word. The slick sound of a condom being rolled on and a slathering of lube over that kicked Sam’s heart to a desperate thundering that roared through his ears.

He felt his breath catch in his chest as Dean’s cock pushed forward and up, slipping wetly between the cleft of his ass cheeks, prodding right up against his prepared hole, his hand tugging Sam’s leg over his own. Dean’s arm was suddenly wrapping over his side and around his chest, holding Sam’s back tightly against his front, his mouth brushing against the nape of his neck. His rushed breath washed hotly against the fine hairs there when he murmured, “I’m gonna fill you up, baby boy. You ready?”

And then Dean was working inside him, breaching that first ring of muscle with a slow, burning stretch that made Sam cry out with the ecstasy of that first initial intrusion. Dean held him closer, so close that Sam could feel the thud of Dean’s heart knocking against his back. He tipped his hips back, drawing Dean in deeper, wanting, _needing_ , to feel all of him inside. But Dean took his time, pushing forward inch by inch, the hard ridge at the crown of his cock stretching his rim with an aching perfection that drove Sam damn near senseless with desire before Dean's thick, steely shaft finally began sliding in.

“Dean, oh god,” Sam gasped, his fingers digging into the sheets hard enough to almost shred the fabric.  

Dean groaned in response, his head pressed between Sam’s shoulder blades, and pushed in all the way then, bottoming out flush up against Sam's firm ass. His hand slid down Sam's sweat-slick skin, over his toned chest and belly, trailing all the way to Sam's throbbing, leaky dick as he held them both still. He wrapped the long member in a tight grip and Sam bucked back with a hoarse moan at the desperately needed touch, throwing his head back to rest against Dean’s shoulder.

"Just hold on a little bit longer, Sammy," Dean husked, drawing his hips back slowly. He pulled almost all the way out of Sam's pulsating channel before pushing back inside with a deliberate and calculated thrust. "God _damn_ , you feel so good, baby boy, squeezed so tight around me."

The arousal that had been coiling so tightly in Sam's gut came that much closer to unraveling at the desperate sound of Dean's voice and he canted his hips forward to fuck into Dean's fist, now slick with precome, then swaying back to take Dean deep inside once more. It was a beautiful but torturous give and take that propelled Sam to the very edge of his control.

"I can't... Dean, I'm gonna, oh god," Sam sobbed the words, not even able to form a complete sentence around the clamor of arousal filling his brain.

Dean began to thrust up into Sam's ass in earnest then with short, shallow plunges that were frantic but simultaneously graceful, groaning to Sam urgently, "Me too, Sammy. I want you to come with me, right at the same time, okay? I need to feel your cock pulsing in my hand when mine is pulsing in your ass. Oh god, you have no idea how much I need that."

Sam nodded fervently, knowing he would only have to hear Dean give him the go ahead and he'd be set off like a goddamn firecracker. "When, Dean?" he whimpered, feeling his balls draw up heavy and tight between his sweaty thighs.

Dean slammed up against his ass roughly, giving one last twisting pull of his first on Sam's dick. "Now, Sammy. Right fuckin now."

And then they shot like a pair of rockets into space, with flames and sparks racing through each, their hearts pounding a furious and near identical cadence as they collided with the all the shinning stars in the sky. Sweet ecstasy blinded them to the whole world except each other as its rippling tide swept through them and then receded slowly away, leaving both them and the bed sticky with saliva, sweat and Sam’s honeyed cum.

Dean gently released Sam's softening cock and wrapped his arm snugly across his chest, holding Sam close against him, his chest heaving and sticking to Sam's back from their combined sweat. Pure, unadulterated bliss flooded over him and he held onto Sam tighter, clamping onto him like a lifeline.

Dean was falling, falling faster and harder than he ever had before, and while that prospect in any other circumstance would have scared the absolute shit out of him, this felt right. It just felt so goddamn _right._ He really had no other words or way to describe it.

He slowly drifted into a hard won sleep like a man sinking into the warmth of a tranquil bath, surrounded and enveloped in a peace he had rarely ever experienced, a smile on lips and Sam's name ghosting from his mouth on a contented sigh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fan art at the end was done by me, lopsided whiskey grin! It was the first time I've attempted to color one of my sketches with a computer paint program! I hope you guys like it!! Thanks for reading, and commenting, and leaving kudos for us, dear readers! You guys are the ones that keep us going <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We sincerely apologize for how long this chapter took to post. There was a combination of writer's block and a severe cold that prevented us from working on it for a while. Thank you so much, dear readers, for sticking with us through all of it. We should be back on track now! Thanks again and always for reading, commenting on, and leaving kudos on this story. You guys really do mean the world to us <3

"Sam, wake up."

Sam mumbled something about five more minutes and rolled away from the voice, already falling back into the amazing dream he'd been having of Dean scantily clad in a schoolgirl outfit and bent over the desk in Sam's office. His pink plaid skirt was hiking up over the curve of his ass to reveal just the barest hint of hot pink lace and Sam reached his hand forward slowly.

But he was shaken from his dream by the voice again, just as he was grazing his fingertips under the hem of the short skirt and lifting it up to see what was hiding underneath...

"Wake up, baby boy. I wanna show you something," Dean was saying with a low chuckle.

Sam groaned and blinked his eyes open slowly, seeing that it was still dark but for a shaft of silvery moonlight pouring in through the window across the room. He yawned, rolling toward Dean. "What time is it?" he asked with a voice that was slightly rusty and tired.

Dean smiled, his eyes sparkling even in the dim light. "It's still late," he said softly, "but I want to show you something outside."

Sam sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, intrigued by Dean's excitement. "What is it?"

"Put your boxers on and I'll show you," Dean replied with a mischievous grin, scooting his way out of the bed.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stretched his back before standing up to try and search for his underwear in the dark. Dean rounded the foot of the bed, holding them out for him. Sam smiled, grabbing them from Dean's outstretched hand and stepped into them quickly.

He followed Dean through his darkened house to what he assumed was a mudroom near the back door.

“Forget the shoes,” Dean said, waving for Sam to drop his shoe and follow him out the back door. He was carrying a pair of towels but dropped them on the steps as he made his way off the porch and headed for a path in the trees across the yard. He followed Dean with teasing pushes and snarky remarks about serial killers and hockey masks.

“Just you wait, Sammy,” was Dean’s only retort. His excitement was palpable and Sam suddenly wanted to jog out to this mysterious surprise. He could see well enough; the path was clear and the moonlight washed the trees and dirt and grass with a warm silver glow. Just ahead he could see the part in the trees and could make out a dock and a lake, a pond maybe, just beyond.

“This looks like a great spot for summer cookouts,” he said before stopping just outside the treeline. Tucked in the middle of the wide clearing was a lake, small but too big to be a pond, with a dock that looked new. The water was dark and still and Sam turned to Dean, his mouth open in disbelief at the beauty that was hiding right in the man’s backyard.

It was as if the sky left a smear of itself behind as a gift and Sam was left breathless and in awe of the vision Dean was sharing with him. From the surface of the water, the stars were staring back up to the sky in a perfect reflection of brilliant black and sparkling night, each twin twinkling as joyfully as the original overhead. He let Dean take his hand and, stepping backwards, pull him towards the dock.

“Ever taken a swim in the night sky?” he asked, his eyes glowing with dovelike excitement. When he reached the end of the dock, he sat down, tugging Sam down with him and let his feet hang down to sink into the water.

“When I got here and was looking for a place, I drove past this overgrown patch of land,” Dean looked out across the water to the trees on the other side, quietly searching the darkness. “It was just trees and dirt, but something told me to pull over. I stopped to check the lot and found this. It’s a full acre but I bought it a week later.”

“You built the house?” Sam asked, respect plain in his voice. “That’s your design?”

“Yeah, well,” his standard answer for questions he wasn’t ready to answer. “This place was a mess and needed a fresh start. Kind of like me at the time.” A weak smile pulled at Dean’s lips when he turned to Sam and away again, still hand in hand. “I come out here to think or to just to shut out the noise, ya know? When I just need to be alone for a while.”

He finally focused olive eyes on Sam completely. They were so full of pain and longing and hope, each emotion taking a turn on Dean’s face, before settling on patience and self-depreciation. Sam let his gaze pass over the lush greenery and the inviting water again, Dean’s words rolling over in his head. This was a special place for him, a sanctuary to hide from the burdens of life. For a moment Sam wished that he had one of his own, a place to escape long enough to put all of his thoughts back onto their proper shelves before heading out into the world.

And then the meaning of Dean’s silent emotions rang clear. Dean was sharing his inner space with him. He was allowing him to see a side he held close to his chest for protection and Dean was inviting him to share it.

“Why did you call me again?” The words spilled out like unruly birds, desperate for flight and Sam was immediately embarrassed by his needful question.

He slowly drug his eyes back to Dean, wondering for the millionth time what he had ever done to deserve a man like this, a man that would trust Sam enough to bring him here, and after they had only known each other for one week.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dean asked in return, no humor or teasing in his eyes, only an insecurity that Sam hadn’t yet seen. There was no denying the connection between them was strong, stronger than Sam had ever felt, but it all seemed to be happening so fast.

“I haven’t had many lasting or meaningful relationships before,” Sam started, pulling his hand away from Dean’s and rubbing both down his face. “ _None_ , if I’m being totally honest here, and I know that was all my fault. I just didn’t have a lot to offer, like ever, and I just don’t know what the rules are.”  Sam let out a heavy sigh and waited for Dean to speak.

“Honesty is a good rule,” Dean said, rubbing his palms against his thighs before turning slightly towards Sam and taking his hand back into his own. “Look, I’m no saint, Sam. I’ve got some ghosts following me around and I have to admit that I played the field. I played a lot, but I promise that I am not doing that here. I… I just… whatever is going on here, I know it’s special. I don’t want to hurt you or push you away, okay? No matter how this falls out, it is not because of you or something you think you don’t have.”

Sam searched Dean’s face and then his eyes for the lies, the hunt having almost everything to do with his own fragile perception of himself. There was a constant worry that ran at the back of his mind like a swift but hidden current that tried convincing him that on some level he wasn't good enough, that if he happened to fall back to the weight he was in college he'd be as good as invisible again.

“This is nice, like really,” Dean said waving his free hand over Sam’s face and body, “but this,” he tapped his fingers against Sam’s forehead, “this is beautiful. And way more than I deserve, Sammy.”

Sam’s laugh echoed across the water harshly before he spoke, “Dean you have no idea what you deserve. I mean you…”

“I’m serious, Sam,” Dean cut him short. “I’m not a nice man, not really. I’m just really lucky that I got a second chance and that I found you.”

Sam turned to study the scenery again, the words rolling around in his head once more. How could someone as seemingly perfect as Dean feel so undeserving of… affection? He wondered for a moment if this was what people thought when they looked at him - the total package with a bright future looking for someone to share it with - with no inclination of the horrors he put himself through on the daily. Hateful thoughts take their toll. Maybe he and Dean weren’t as different as he was assuming. Did it really matter?

Sam turned back to Dean, a huge grin plastered to his face. “Didn’t you say something about swimming?”

Dean frowned momentarily, noting Sam's obvious evasion of the topic at hand, but decided against pressing Sam to reveal anymore if he was uncomfortable; the last thing he wanted to do was drive Sam away. He did vow though to keep showing Sam how incredible he was, and in as many ways as possible, until he finally saw himself as Dean saw him -- as worthy and deserving and valuable and _wanted_.

He forced his frown away, settling a wide grin in its place. "I _did_ say something about swimming," he said, letting Sam's hand go with a warm squeeze and standing up. "But this is more than just swimming, Sammy," he pulled his boxer shorts down, standing naked and proud in the moonlight, "This is skinny dipping in a lake of stars."

Sam looked up at him, his eyes wide as saucers, before dropping down to Dean's cock hanging heavy and limp between his legs, right at Sam's eye level from where he still sat on the dock. "You're serious?" he asked skeptically, his gaze slowly dragging back up Dean's body. "What if someone sees us?"

Dean chuckled, reaching down to tug Sam to his feet. "Don't tell me you're feeling shy _now_ , Sammy. After what happened in the driveway, I'm surprised you have one modest bone left in your body."

Sam blushed and shook his head with a laugh, looking around the tree-lined space, still clearly uncertain. Dean smiled gently and stepped up close to him, settling his hands down on Sam's hips and dipping just the tips of his fingers into the waistband of his boxers.

"There's no one around for miles, Sammy. C'mon, I promise that nobody's gonna see you." He nuzzled into the crook of Sam's neck, nibbling at the soft, warm flesh there.

Sam huffed out a shuddering breath that Dean felt skip across his shoulder. "You think you're pretty persuasive, don't you?" he asked on an exhale.

Dean chuckled, mouthing a wet bite to Sam's throat. "I dunno, Sammy, you tell me," he said as he started pulling Sam's underwear down.

Sam didn't object at all, not when Dean tugged his boxers down to pool at his ankles, not even when Dean stepped back to admire his body in the soft silver glow of the moon beams settling down about his shoulders and frosting the tips of his hair. Sam pulled his gaze up from where it had been focused at his feet and centered his beautiful eyes on Dean, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Dean felt his breath catch in his chest at the sight and he blinked, momentarily stunned. Words that he had never considered speaking to another person before meeting Sam threatened to tumble from his mouth, but were halted before they could be given a voice by Sam’s smile as it turned mischievous.

The younger man reached his hands out, grabbing onto Dean's and tugging him to the edge of the dock, one eyebrow cocked. "So are we gonna do this or what?"

Dean grinned, pushing those words back for another day, and began sinking down so that they could ease themselves into the water slowly, but Sam had a different idea completely. Dean suddenly found himself being shoved over the edge of the dock with Sam's joyful laugh filling his ears seconds before the sound of rushing water took its place.

Dean pushed off the bottom to break the surface of the lake just as Sam jumped in, sending up a large cresting wave right into his face. He sputtered momentarily, wiping cool lake water from his eyes, waiting with a devious excitement for Sam to come up for air. When he did, Dean slapped the water, splashing Sam in the face with a small wave of his own, kicking away to avoid retaliation. Pushing off the sandy floor, Sam raced forward after his quarry, just missing Dean's foot and squinting against the onslaught of water. Sam decided to change tactics and lure his prey toward him instead.

When Dean looked back to Sam, seeing that he had floated a little farther away and was chuckling, he rolled over in the water and cautiously glided over, sure to stay out of reach. They circled each other warily before leaping forward, grappling and rolling skin on skin, each fighting for dominance. They continued back and forth, wrestling in the darkened lake, the sound of their grunts and chuckles and empty threats mixing fluidly with wet splashes in the wide and echoing clearing.

Their raucous play began to die down as they panted from the exertion, limbs tangled in an evident draw. Sam was trapped in a headlock just above the water, Dean gasping against a bear hug. They both let out a panting and breathless chuckle. Releasing Dean’s back slowly, Sam reached up, suddenly and desperately needing a taste of his skin. He circled Dean’s wrist gently and drew his hand to his mouth, pressing a soft but heated kiss to his wet palm.

Dean felt his heart stutter in his chest and he brought his thumb up to trace along the ridge of Sam’s brow, water dripping from his hand like diamonds in the moonlight. Sam smiled, maneuvering to face him and wrap his arms around Dean’s waist again, and drew him in close.

Battle forgotten, Dean looked up, feeling all the hard angles of Sam’s body sliding right up against his own, slippery skin sensitive and eager. He slipped his hands up into Sam’s dripping hair, tugging his head forward enough to slot their lips together. Their mouth’s moved against each other with a slow and aching tenderness that quickly turned hungry and frenzied.

Dean brought a leg up, hooking around Sam’s waist, using the buoyancy of the water to his advantage to press his growing erection up against Sam’s warm belly. Sam moaned deep and low into Dean’s open mouth, sliding his hands down Dean’s back to cup his ass cheeks and pull him even closer. Dean rutted up against him, their hardened cocks dragging alongside each other before Sam growled deep in his throat and pulled his lips away, pressing them hard against Dean's forehead instead.

"God damn, Dean," Sam whispered fiercely. "I want to just hold you and talk to you but I -I just can't."

Dean's chuckle caught him off guard and his brows knit in questioning look, his features soft once again. Dean pressed a soft kiss to Sam's mouth before dropping himself back to the water.

"Take your time, baby boy. We have all weekend, if you'll stay."

The smile the brightened Sam's face rivaled the sun and he nodded his head and emphatic yes. Relief washed over Dean, who let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

"Alright then," he said. "Let's swim in these stars."

With another smile and nod, Sam kicked his way slowly to the center of the lake, small ripples following him that Dean cut through as he trailed a little way behind. Like a pair of swans, they sliced through the water in quiet contemplation, each reviewing the conversations of the week against the one on the dock.

Upon reaching the middle, Sam stopped to tread water and then stretched his legs down to experimentally see if his feet would still touch the bottom of the lake. His head was still well above the water when he sunk into the soft mud below him, toes curling into the saturated earth. He turned up to the sky, his face a full moon against the star filled water. Dean beside him did the same before dipping his head full back and letting his legs float to the surface, the water holding him up in her cool arms.

“Seriously?” Sam asked, laughter in his voice. Once again, Sam found himself at eye level with Dean’s pelvis and laughed at the man’s nonchalance for his own body.

“What?” Dean asked, smirk in place. “Can’t handle a man at leisure? Come on Sammy, live a little.” Dean tugged at Sam’s arm to encourage him to relax and follow his lead.

“It’s just an excuse to get your dick in my face.”

Split between a smile and a grimace, Sam let out a breath and let his feet rise to the surface only to have his shoulders sink below the water. He flipped in the water but tried again, holding his breath and swaying his arms to keep his head up. His feet wouldn’t rise.  He kicked gently hoping the movement would give him lift but he sank again, his mouth filling with water as he let out his breath.

Dean watched from his cradled position as Sam struggled to find the balance for floating. He snickered and righted himself again. Sam was brilliant but so uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Dude, don’t try so hard,” Dean instructed letting the humor die away as with the phone sex, his voice now an anchor. “Relax, Sam. Close your eyes, think of me being gentle and let it all go.”

Sam felt Dean’s palms caress his back and the back of his thigh, his hands helping Sam find his equilibrium. He focused on the texture of each finger on his skin and how they had moved earlier in the night massaging the tension out of his body. He took a slow but deep breath letting his muscles relax into that touch and then closed his eyes, the image of them spooned together emerging into his mind’s eye. It wasn’t until Dean’s hand found and closed around his that Sam realize that he was floating, the surface hugging him as surely as it was Dean. The feeling was exhilarating and calming and safe as they wandered the center of lake like a pair of pale leaves drifting in the breeze.

Dean glanced over at Sam’s face, slack and relaxed. _Beautiful_ , he thought again, and smiled at the contradiction floating beside him; handsome but unaware, sexual but shy, smart but maybe naive. He was struck with the wonder of how all those opposites were so inherently congruent, how all those pieces somehow fit together so perfectly to form Sam. It was almost as striking a set of improbabilities as their own chance meeting last week, and not to mention their radically contrasting backgrounds.

Dean pulled his eyes away from Sam, focusing his gaze up at the full moon directly above them and letting out a soft sigh. His mind always seemed to loop back to that glaring difference between them, that hidden past that Dean was still trying so hard to keep locked away. But instead of dwelling on it, Dean pushed the thoughts away again, resolutely trying his best to savor this moment, to memorize every detail. Because he knew, with an aching certainty, that once that truth came to light Sam would be as good as gone. The only thing Dean was really unsure of was was how long he really thought he could hold off that inevitability or if he even had control over any of it. _Just make the most of it_ , he thought to himself, _Make the most of it while you can_.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Sam stared up at the star-filled night sky, still floating in the cool lake behind Dean's house, his hand absently bumping Dean's every so often as they swayed near each other in the water. He blinked his eyes tiredly, feeling the lulling pull of sleep tug at him from the soft rocking of the water and the near deafening silence filling the clearing. It had been a long and trying week with work and then the embarrassing and unnecessary stress he had put himself through earlier at the baseball game and all he seemed to want to do was sleep, especially now since Dean had woken him up in the middle of the night not more than an hour ago. Not that Sam was complaining -- he was more at peace in that moment, floating silently in that dark lake of stars, than he'd felt in a long, long time -- he was just having an increasingly harder time keeping his eyes open.

The sound of Dean's deep chuckle suddenly broke through the quiet and Sam felt his body being rocked a little harder as Dean began swimming in close. "Don't tell me you're falling asleep over there, Sammy boy," Dean said, his voice drifting to Sam like tendrils of fog seeping through a chilled valley on an early summer morning.

Sam smiled. "Just resting my eyes, is all," he replied, waiting with his eyes closed for Dean to come in nice and close.

Dean chuckled again, the sound right up by Sam's head. "Well let's get you inside, before your skin gets all wrinkly and --"

His words were cut off by Sam turning fast as liquid lightning and dunking him under the water. Sam laughed into the darkness, anticipating Dean coming up sputtering like a mad wet cat after getting caught off guard for the second time, but quickly fell silent when Dean didn't immediately resurface. The ripples around him went still and Sam's heart plummeted, suddenly and terrifyingly certain that Dean was hurt somehow. His eyes frantically searched the surface of the midnight black water, but he could barely see his own hands paddling underneath for how dark the lake was around him.

Dread suffused through him in a numbing rush just seconds before two strong arms wrapped around his middle and dragged him down below the water, with barely enough time for him to yell out his surprise. And then he was beneath the surface, cool lakewater enveloping him in a soundless and serene quiet that was total and complete. A soft, warm mouth was suddenly on his, and even though Sam had his eyes closed, he knew it was Dean’s just from the supple shape of it. And really who else would it be out here?

He wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, kissing back fiercely, sharing his oxygen back and forth between them until his lungs were burning and he was dizzy with a desperate need for air.They kicked to the surface together, breaking through the stars covering the lake and gasping for breath but latching back onto each other before they had even pulled in more than two deep pants. Sam was utterly amazed at how quickly Dean continued to flip that switch inside of him, driving him crazy with need even when he was tired or distracted or lost a million miles away in his own thoughts, sending him into a wild frenzy of animalistic want within the span of three goddamn seconds. He never thought his body was capable of such raw hunger; never before Dean.

Dean enveloped Sam, the taller man keeping them above the surface even as he suckled on Dean’s bottom lip. They bobbed together in the dark, Sam’s feet just brushing the bottom, his hands roaming over Dean’s back and shoulders. The muscles bunched and flexed under his touch as Dean reached between them to caress both arousals then crossed over Sam’s ribs and up his back to pull Sam’s head back exposing his throat.

“We need to get to shore,” Dean panted between waterlogged kisses pressed against Sam’s adam’s apple. He grunted when Sam's hands grasped his ass, a muscled globe in each wide palm, then barked a laugh from deep in his throat. Once Sammy got rolling, he was singularly driven, his fingers inching their way deeper between Dean's cheeks.

"You want more, kiddo?" Dean's voice carried as much mirth as desire and Sam gritted his teeth against his own smile.

"Always," was Sam's only answer. Drawing in a ragged breath, he pushed off the bottom again to both stay above the surface and to brush flesh against flesh. He groaned as Dean's cock dragged along his own, sending overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing through his whole body.

As they neared the shore, Dean dropped to his side to swim on his own, gliding through the water but moving into Sam’s space enough to throw off his strokes and make him laugh. Once the water reached their knees, Sam was on him again, the heat he had ignored the last hour bubbling to the surface in burning jolts. He loved the feel of Dean’s body under his, craved it like a scorched desert craves a rainstorm. The sound of his laughter and the desire that flooded his body every time he felt Dean’s skin against his own drove Sam damn near senseless with desire.

He had him on all fours in the shallow water near the shore, his own body draped across Dean's back so he could curl his arm underneath to stroke his dick and rub his own into the part of Dean’s cheeks. As relaxed as he had been just moments before, his blood was boiling now and demanding release.

Dean's breathless chuckles rang out in the moonlit clearing and quickly melted into needy pants when Sam's cock nudged against his hole, still partially stretched from the plug he had worn earlier. "Whoa there, cowboy," he rasped. "You hiding a rubber somewhere on that amazing naked ass body of yours?"

Sam immediately stilled, a fraction of a second away from pushing into Dean's tight heat, jaw clenched against the burning desire. As Dean rolled over and slightly away, Sam ran his palm along the line of Dean’s spine, a growl and a whispered apology on his lips.

“How about this, sport,” Dean began, standing up in the shallow water and taking a few steps backwards, “Race ya back to house. Winner tops.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows before kicking a wave onto Sam’s kneeling form and bolting for the path, only his laughter left behind.

“That’s cheating!” Sam called after him, scrambling to his feet to give chase, laughter bubbling from his chest as well. He watched Dean’s pale form moving in the short distance, closing the gap even as they made it into his yard. Dean took the porch steps two at a time, ignoring the towels he’d laid out, and burst through the door to the mud room just as Sam hit the first step.

Dean was ready for him when Sam pounced, embracing the taller man as he was knocked off his feet, pulling Sam to the living room carpet with him. They howled in the self-indulgent hilarity of tickling and nibbling as Sam forced himself between Dean’s thighs, nips turning into raspberries, revenge for his own joyous torture last weekend.

“You cheated, Dean,” Sam accused, playfulness in his voice. He pulled Dean’s hands over his head to be held by one of Sam’s and shook his head letting the droplets of water splash over Dean’s face. Dean sputtered an exaggerated complaint but then spoke to defend himself.

“I _did_ ,” Dean admitted, his eyes wide with mock disbelief at his own audacity. “I cheated fair and square, Sammy. Now let me up, I want my prize.” Dean bucked his hips hard to bounce Sam, two semi hard cocks rubbing together instead.

“Cheaters never prosper, Dean,” Sam warned, his smile turning deliciously wicked as he pulled Dean’s leg up over his hip to land a heavy smack to the back of his thigh. “I think punishment is in order.”

Dean grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light of the living room, and nodded. "Oh I've been a very bad boy," he said, wriggling his wrists free of Sam's grasp, his eyes bright with mischief, "But, ya know what? Why don't we play again and this time I’ll make it fair. You can save that punishment for later, when I really earn it."

Sam cocked his head to the side like a frustrated and confused puppy and Dean couldn't help but chuckle. "If we don't start fucking right now I'm gonna fuckin' explode," he said by way of an explanation.

Dean held up his hands like he had done back in the restaurant parking lot, right fist in his left palm in the universal sign of rock, paper, scissors, and understanding finally broke across Sam's face.

"No cheating this time," Sam said, sitting back on his haunches and holding his hands up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright," he huffed in mock annoyance. "Let's do this."

Three pounds of their fists and one display of scissors on Dean's part and the top was finally decided. Sam looked down at Dean with a triumphant grin and Dean stared up at him, his plush bottom lip sticking out in a near petulant pout, looking to be about two seconds away from pitching a fit.

"Oh c'mon," Sam said, "I won fair and square! Quit being a sore loser."

Dean's pout curled into a smirk and he tugged Sam down on top of him, nudging his hips up to brush their cocks together. He brought his mouth in close, his hot breath against Sam's ear sending unending shivers down his spine. "I'm not being a sore loser, Sammy, but I do want you to make me sore. Think you can handle that?"

Sam nodded fervently, his heart picking up pace again, feeling Dean's wicked smile curve against his cheek seconds before he found himself being rolled roughly onto his back. He let out a surprised grunt as he thumped down the rug, a whispered ‘good’ rushing against his ear.

“Oh, I’m gonna put out,” Dean teased, “but I like the view from the top.” His face melded its way through an array of expressions as his eyes ran over Sam below him - lust, joy, mischief and something else - before leaning back to run his palms over Sam’s expanse of chest and torso. He swatted Sam’s wandering hands as the crept up his thighs. Bottom or not, Dean was now running the show.

He swiveled his hips in a slow circle, his balls pressed hard against Sam’s shaft. Breathy pants escaped both men followed by a sigh from Dean as he leaned forward, lips inches from Sam’s, his tongue tracing a line down his nose. Sam’s hot breath washed against Dean’s face as he leaned his head up for a kiss, eyes closed and hands flexing with need to touch Dean. But Dean’s mouth never met his and his eyes popped open as a grumbled set of curses filled the quiet room.

“What?” Sam asked, eyes darting over Dean’s face and the space they shared on the floor. Dean’s complaining was almost as funny as it was sudden when he lifted himself up and off of Sam.

“You move and I’ll kill you,” Dean declared as he trudged to the bedroom, huffs and stomping footfalls echoing for a moment before pausing. “I mean it!” and an accusing finger pointed at Sam followed a moment later.

Sam laughed at Dean’s grumpy display before forcing a sincere nod of agreement and laying his head back to the floor to wait. _Supplies suck_ , Sam thought to himself and he made a mental note to start stashing things like condoms and lubricant and towels around his living space. How long, he wondered, before they should approach the idea of barebacking? He felt a jolt of pleasure at the thought and bounced his own head against the floor. No need to let that thought get carried away. The temptation was great enough without actually acknowledging it.

“That’s a good boy scout,” Dean crooned as he lowered himself back to the floor, silent feet letting him sneak up on Sam and his naughty thoughts.

Without another word, Dean gave Sam’s heavy dick several slow, hard tugs before opening a wrapper and rolling the condom down. He straddled Sam again, taking his time squeezing the cool liquid from the small bottle of lube onto his palms before gripping Sam, intent on teasing even as need crawled over him again. Through the thin latex, Dean’s hands were like magic as they moved slowly up and down, his thumb grazing the fat head, making Sam bite back a low whimper.

And just when he was ready to protest the agonizing wait, Dean finally lifted up and sat down on Sam’s pulsing, slicked up cock. They both groaned deeply as he settled himself to the hilt, his body protesting for both less and more. When Sam’s palms caressed Dean’s thighs without a reprimand, pushed by a need to feel his muscles working, strong and firm under his fingertips, Dean finally began to move. He leaned forward and then back, rolling his hips again, searching for the right angle and moaned so sweetly when he finally found it.

Dean may have loved the view ‘from the top’ but Sam knew that he was the one in the VIP section. Pulling his knees up as a support, he watched pleasure dance across Dean’s face - his brows creasing and then lifting, his lips forming a delicate pout before pulling back to bare his teeth. All the while, Dean’s head lulled back and forth, eyes closed, his shoulders bunching and flexing as he maintained his balance.

When the emerald of Dean’s eyes finally opened, the misty color dark with lust, Sam saw a ferocity that belied Dean’s slow pace. He reached up both hands to drag Dean down for another kiss, longing and heat passing from one mouth to the other as easily as wine being poured into a glass.

Pressed against Sam’s chest, Dean switched to quick, shallow movements, humping against Sam to rub his own dripping cock against Sam’s lower belly as the head of Sam's dick was forced to endure the sudden in-and-out kiss of Dean’s rim. The intense burst of pleasure curled Sam’s toes and he squeezed Dean in a bearhug, his hips moving in time to Dean’s assault.

“Fuck, De…” Sam couldn’t even finish his thought as Dean forced his arms away and leaned back upright to swivel and roll through his deliciously slow pace, burning heat enveloping him once again.

Dean was enjoying every ounce that Sam was giving him. He was strong and beautiful and so damn pliable beneath him, so willing to let Dean just take what he wanted. Dean groaned low in his throat and let his hands slide down from Sam’s knees to the back of his thighs before making the trek across his own skin to Sam’s stomach, relishing in the awestruck and wrung out look stamped across Sam’s face.

“God damn, baby boy,” Dean ground out, teeth clenching in time to his ass. “You fill me up so perfect.”

He dipped the tip of his finger into Sam’s navel before sliding up to his nipples, then neck, then jaw. He rolled his body, brushing his prostate against the head of Sam’s cock and letting the sensation build hot pools of molten ecstasy low in his belly before falling forward again, the contact broken and his blood cooling. That was twice that he’d brought himself to the brink only to pull back.

How many more near misses could he force upon himself before Sam finally had enough and took him hard? How many times would Sam endure Dean’s quick and shallow fucking of himself before Sam lost control and held him in place, demanding release?  

He felt Sam’s massive paws crawl down his back and rest on his hip, not attempting to guide Dean’s movements, but only to appreciate the swift motion. He gave Sam’s hair a hard pull, licked a wet line across his throat and then sat back up, his tease paused for the moment. It wouldn’t be long now, he was sure. That something feral was inching its way into Sam’s eyes and edging out the sweet wonder and Dean could literally _feel_ the pull of that reckless abandon that was only seconds from bursting forward.

He rolled over his own sweet spot again, this time feeling a shudder run up his spine, and another moan bounced loudly off the walls. Dean was so close now, his cock dripping and swollen and an angry red, but he wanted one more go before he gave in and tumbled into the abyss.

He leaned forward again, supple lips finding Sam’s instantly, their kiss moving quickly from plush suckling to teeth and bites and grunting. Sam’s hand, soft and caressing moments before turned hard on Dean’s skin, his fingertips digging into his back and ass to halt his teasing.

“Fuck,” Sam finally cried out, his overworked cockhead finally demanding release. Dean found himself pushed back and off, sliding with an ungraceful thump onto the carpet. And then Sam was on him again, crowding his space, forcing him to lay back and then flipping him roughly and without preamble onto his hands and knees, angry lust making him harsh and demanding. Dean’s knowing laughter just antagonized that wild thing to finally surface in Sam. Dean loved that wild thing, it seemed, and he fought back a little just to hear it growl at him.

“Can’t take a little fucking, Sammy boy?” he mocked, pushing his hips up and off the carpet, arching his back and thrusting his ass up toward Sam, inviting him to take even as he lifted his chest from the floor, wrenching his arms from Sam’s grip.

“God dammit, Dean,” Sam snarled, his fingers flying down to Dean’s hips to hold on with a grip that was deep and bruising. “I _know_ you want it hard. You play coy, but I know you push me just to make me fucking take you.”

Dean cried out, pleasure and pain mingling for the first few strokes as Sam buried himself balls deep and then moved, his pace as frantic and rough as Dean’s teasing. Dean felt dirty and used and absolutely, divinely delicious as Sam fucked him again, harder than he had against the Impala, filthy words cascading down to his ears like an obscene symphony.

“Like a fucking whore, you are, Dean. Fucking Christ. I want to hear you sing for me. I want that pretty little mouth of yours to scream my name, you hear me? You take all of me so good, so fucking deep.” Dean reached his hand beneath himself, stroking his own cock now in time to Sam’s thrusts, crying out again as Sam commanded him to come. “Fucking come now, Dean! NOW!”

And Dean did, shattering apart like a stained glass window exploding under the pressure of gale force winds, his cock, still gripped in his tight fist, jerking wildly and spraying the carpet with seemingly endless ropes of come. His whole body contracted, all of his muscles clenching simultaneously with the powerful force of his orgasm, and he screamed Sam’s name with a ferocity that ripped his throat raw.

Sam relished in the tight, constricting squeeze of Dean’s asshole around him, gritting his teeth and pistoning his hips forward in a series of quick, brutal thrusts that pushed him past the breaking point. He surged in deep, slamming into Dean roughly as that last ounce of his control snapped, gripping Dean’s hips hard enough to bruise.

Curling forward, Sam wrapped one arm under Dean’s chin to choke him close, feeling the spasm of Dean’s adam’s apple bob against the inside of his elbow. He buried himself in the tight and quaking channel milking around the entire length of his straining cock as the rush of completion pummelled through him, taking all he had to give and more. He roared out a loud growl as he came, feeling it shake through every last square inch of his body, sucking the remaining remnants of his energy straight out of his dick.

The two men slumped down onto the carpet, utterly and exceptionally exhausted. Sam barely had enough presence of mind to slip his softening cock from Dean’s gaping, puffy hole and pull the used condom off before laying out beside Dean right there on the floor in front of the couch. He wrapped an arm around Dean, drawing him close up against his side, fighting for breath.

Dean curled on top of Sam’s chest, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Sam’s sweat-slicked neck and breathing in deep, knowing he’d never, ever get tired of the unique and strong scent of him, not even if he tried. He reached up onto the couch, grasping a throw blanket and pulling it down to cover them both, drifting off to a hard won sleep with Sam’s warm lips pressed against his temple, thoughts of skinny dipping sifting sweetly through his mind, and both of their fingers entwined together right over Sam’s thudding and happy heart.


	11. Chapter 11

When he blinked awake on the living room floor, Dean pressed and drooling against his back, Sam breathed a satisfied sigh of contentment and wondered how long they had slept. It was a rare morning that he did not greet the sun in jogging shorts and sneakers, but he did have quite a workout the night before; he’d earned a lazy morning. But sore muscles and a full bladder demanded attention eventually and after several tries at prying Dean’s possessive fingers from some part of him or another, he made for his bag for fresh boxers and then the bathroom for relief and a wash.

Dean was still nestled against the couch when Sam crossed the living room again. He was curled up and hugging the throw like a teddy bear, innocent and sweet in his sleep. Dean was beautiful in his suspended animation. Now carrying the memory of that childish pose, the well worn thought brought to Sam both a bubble of warmth and a grimace of disappointment. The adult in him insisted on letting the imp sleep in while he tidied up their shared space, temporary as it was. The eager teenager in him was stomping his feet to wake Dean up by savoring the delectable offerings he had south of his bellybutton. ‘Insatiable’ came to mind again as Sam watched Dean’s rhythmic breathing for another moment, the word now as worn as 'beautiful.’

_Nice trick_ , Sam thought of Dean’s tempting form and moved on to the dinner table to clear last night’s dishes. He tried for quiet but the clanking of plates, glasses and empty bottles echoed in the large room. Sam winced and looked back over at Dean, but was stunned to see him barely register the noise.

Sam was tiptoeing through the kitchen now in search of a whisk, having loaded the dishwasher, praying that later it would clean everything without the need of a stop under running water. Dean definitely played as hard as he worked, and after what they shared yesterday, Sam knew he needed all the rest he could get. Opting to let him dream a bit longer, Sam was happy to whip together breakfast for his slumbering lover.

As he made the rounds of the drawers again, still searching for that damn whisk, he smiled as the rolling aroma of hazelnut coffee finally reached him from the machine. While setting up the coffee, Sam had let out a silent huff of a laugh, hoping the gurgling protest of the brew would wake Dean, and his obvious sweet tooth. When, like the dishes, the noisey contraption had not even elicited a snort from the unconscious man, Sam had walked away to let the machine work while he searched for the whisk.

French toast was a favorite of his and he had rounded up just about everything to get started. Eggs, milk, bread and butter were already on the counter so all he needed was cinnamon and the whis-

Sam jumped as he turned to make his way back to the dishwasher and then clenched his jaw in surprise. Standing beside the percolating coffee machine was a semiconscious Dean, wrapped only in the throw and patiently hugging a black coffee mug. Dean drug his half closed eyes up slowly from his treasured coffee maker, a sleepy sideways grin curving his lips.

“Morning, sunshine,” he croaked. Sam grinned at once and reached for the coffee pot that had just received its last drip from the filter, filling the mug that Dean held out for him eagerly. He curled forward, careful not to bump the steaming cup in Dean’s hands, and slotted a quick kiss to Dean’s dry lips.

“Morning,” Sam replied, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of a still half-asleep Dean; rough stubble lining his jaw, skin pink and still sleep soft, green eyes heavy lidded, hair a disheveled mess. He had never looked sexier.

Sam cleared his throat and backed away slightly, knowing full well that if he didn’t concentrate on making breakfast, he’d be pulling Dean down to the kitchen floor where both of them would be receiving bruised knees from the hardwood. He willed away the all-too-tempting thought and turned back to the counter, glancing at Dean over his shoulder, about ready to ask where he might have been hiding the goddam whisk, when his words evaporated.

Dean had propped himself against the pantry door and was watching Sam over the rim of his mug, his eyes becoming clearer and more focused with each sip of coffee. The throw blanket wrapped about his shoulders inched apart at his waist when he brought the mug up to his mouth for another swallow, revealing a thin strip of his belly and dick, and Sam couldn’t help but blush. He turned back to the breakfast ingredients, trying like hell to busy himself, and heard Dean chuckle behind him.

“Somethin’ funny?” Sam asked, not daring to turn around. He stared at the items before him, cheeks burning and trying desperately to remember the French toast recipe he had made at least a hundred times in his life; Dean was being very distracting.

“You,” Dean answered simply, far closer than he had been two seconds ago when Sam had seen him against the pantry door.

A shiver ran down Sam’s spine at the rough timbre of Dean’s voice, scratched raw by the desperate shouts and cries Sam had drawn from him last night, and he consciously bit back the moan rising in this throat. There was suddenly something shiny and metal in his peripheral vision and he glanced over to see a wire whisk being held over his shoulder.

“Finish making me breakfast while I go take a shower, then we can do something about _this_ ,” Dean rasped, caressing a hand over the sudden and aching erection tenting Sam’s boxers, “after we eat. Sound like a deal?”

Sam swallowed thickly and grasped the whisk as Dean sauntered away, throw blanket flapping out behind him like a cape as he walked to the bathroom, still holding his cup of coffee.  

/////////

Sam glanced nervously to the dashboard clock in his car, currently showing 11:47 pm in iridescent green, then looked back out the driver's side window, watching with more than a little trepidation as Dean and his softball pitcher, Krissy, ran across the darkened front lawn of the teenager's ex boyfriend, thick white rolls of Charmin held in each hand.

Long strips of the toilet paper trailed out behind them like crepe paper streamers as they crisscrossed the yard and was already hanging from the trees and bushes and even the overhang on the porch, giving the house the look of a hurried birthday party decorating disaster.

Sam groaned inwardly, trying not to let the lawyer in him count all the misdemeanors being racked up - trespassing, defacement of property, littering- and wondered for the millionth time how in the _hell_ Dean had convinced him to be the getaway driver for this crime spree. And then Dean sprinted beside the car, flashing Sam a wide and exhilarated grin before launching the roll in his hand far up the tree in front of him in a perfect arc and Sam remembered; how could he have said no when Dean had coaxed him so sweetly with that goddamn beautiful smile earlier that morning?

They had been sitting at the table, Dean fresh and clean from his shower, Sam shifting uncomfortably in his seat from the boner still straining against his underwear, eating the French toast Sam had made without once imaging how Dean looked all soaped up under the steamy spray of water in that shower- okay maybe that's _all_ he was thinking of - but he had still managed to make some damn good breakfast even though his mind was otherwise preoccupied. Dean had brought up the topic of TPing Krissy's ex's house out of nowhere, completely catching Sam off guard with that disarming smile of his.

"C'mon, Sammy, it'll be fun. And if you're a good getaway driver, I'll even take you out to the bar, drinks on me," he had said, shooting Sam a wink, and Sam had known then and there that he was done for, in so many more ways than one.

Dean must have some kind of magic superpower that disabled all of Sam’s logic functions. He laughed to himself at the thought, Krissy’s giggle carrying over to him as she launched another roll over the tree. In the past week, Dean had shown Sam a side of himself that he wasn’t even aware he was hiding. And, truth be told, despite his personal insecurities and reservations, Sam was enjoying every second. Okay, not every second; this one in particular was more stressful than fun, but he’d felt more free in the last seven days than he’d felt his entire life. And he owed it to Dean and his horrible influence.

Sam’s inner musings were interrupted by Dean’s high pitched whistle. Sam looked out his window again to see him and Krissy running his way, the porch light having finally kicked on. Already running in idle, Sam put the car in gear as Krissy crawled in through the open rear window and Dean did his best Bo Duke across the hood.

“Let’s roll, Sammy!” Dean crowed as he slammed the passenger door shut, Sam already pulling away from the curb. His poor car. Rarely used in favor of public transit, Sam’s 2010 Volvo S40 had seen better days but this was his first luxury car, bought with hard earned junior DA pay. Now it was the getaway car for his… whatever Dean was and a teenaged hoodlum. He life had taken an odd turn.

Sam shifted through the first few gears efficiently and smoothly, sailing past sleepy two story houses well above the speed limit and pushing the car’s horses harder than he had since he first bought the thing. Dean cranked the radio up to full blast, the Guns ‘n Roses CD he’d popped in for Krissy blaring out of the speakers. It picked up “Welcome to the Jungle,” right where Sam had turned it off. He hooked a right, a left and then another right to merge onto the highway, Dean and Krissy wailing with along with Axl Rose about his serpentine. Sam didn’t realize he was wailing along as well until Dean pulled him in for a kiss, no matter that they were flying down the expressway at ninety with a teenager in the backseat.  

“You’re a natural, baby boy,” Dean yelled over the music, “best driver I ever had.” He turned and gave Krissy a high five as the last few dirty bars pumped from the CD and they all gave an exaggerated “huh” along with Axl. Well past the danger zone now, Dean directed Sam to slow down and guided them back to Krissy’s empty house.

After her mother passed away, he father took on extra work to distract from his grief. She was lucky that it wasn’t the bottle or worse but it still left Krissy alone six out of seven nights a week. Not ideal for a growing girl hence the bad attitude and pension for trouble. Sam’s brows betrayed his worry as he pulled up to the dark house.

“You going to be okay by yourself?” he asked, turning in his seat. The girl nodded, her dark ponytail bobbing behind her head with the movement, a look of disdain creasing her brows in mockery of Sam’s.

“Yeah, chief,” she sassed. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was like eight. I think I can handle a late night with frozen pizza and a monster movie. Don’t let this one corrupt you too bad.” She punched Dean lightly on the shoulder before hopping out.

“Finish your homework,” Dean yelled after her, sincerity in his voice.

“God, I know!” she yelled back, halfway up the walk now. “Chemistry is stupid but whatever. I’ll do it.” Sam watched this exchange with a mix of amazement and jealousy. Dean had her wrapped around his finger and was pushing her to be better. It was a talent he wished he shared and would have to emulate right away.

“What?” Dean asked. With Krissy safely inside, Dean turned his attention back to Sam who was staring at him with a goofy smile. He knew that look. It was the same one some of the moms gave him after watching him coaching their kids - a wistful determination to domesticate a wild animal who happened to love people food. Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Sam’s knee then gestured for him to start driving.

“No chick flick moments, buddy,” he laughed to Sam. “I already put out so no need to tell me how good I am with kids. Compliments will get you no extra head.” Sam’s belly laugh was musical and Dean felt a self satisfied grin take over his features.

“Wow, okay then,” Sam took them back to the highway and headed for the lights of downtown. “So what bar are we headed to again?”

Dean stuck his arm out the window and let his hand ride the waves of wind as the car sped past streetlights and exits. He was debating again about the bar. They hit his favorite sports bar last week and both enjoyed the spoils of drunken debauchery. They had spend the entirety of last night sober and had been just as deep in passion as the weekend before. Would a gay bar prove a road block for the conservative sex fiend driving him across town?

“Let’s hit the F Bar,” he finally said. “We missed the eleven o’clock show but we can catch the one o’clock oncore.” He could feel Sam’s eyes on him now, the subtle downturn in the speed of the car and a small gasp to his left.

“You’re into drag?” Sam sounded shocked. He himself always found the divas to be the epitome of beauty and femininity but Dean just didn’t seem the type to enjoy the flashy costumes and music. “Dude, you’re like Shrek.”

“What!?!” Dean turned in his seat and laughed again. “I’m like Shrek? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Layers,” Sam stated, taking the next exit and slowing down to a stop at the end of the exit. “Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. You are Shrek.” His triumphant smile was like sunshine and Dean groaned loudly against his urge to grin.

“Then that makes you what? The miniature beast of burden?” Dean answered back, leaning over to rub his nose against Sam’s, the light still red.

“Miniature my ass,” Sam snickered before taking Dean’s lips and swallowing his laugh as it burst forth. An impatient horn honk startled them both out of the kiss, Dean yelling obscenities to the driver behind them while tossing matching hand gestures out the window.

“See,” Sam mumbled to himself while laying on the gas, “Shrek.”

The rest of the drive over to the bar passed by in a blur and was spent with their lips locked at stop lights and teasing strokes and caresses up thighs and tented jeans at all the points in between. Both men were hard and panting with want when Sam finally pulled into the packed parking lot at the F Bar.

They stumbled from the car in a hurried rush, already drunk on each other before alcohol had even touched their lips for the night. Sam rounded the hood of his Volvo before Dean had barely closed his door, grabbing him up by his shirt front for a proper kiss that was long and deep, only breaking the contact of their lips when a wolf whistle sounded from a group of men walking past them.

Sam pulled back slightly with a low, breathless chuckle, smoothing Dean's shirt down across the hard plane of his chest after unclenching the material from his fists. Dean stared up at him, his eyes wide and stunned, the green depths holding a mixture of awe and something else that Sam didn't have time to process fully before Dean blinked rapidly and settled that mischievous glint in its place.

"Well damn, baby boy, if I'd a known breaking the law got you this hot, I would've pulled you to the dark side right of the fuckin bat!" He chuckled out a laugh that, to Sam's ears, held a little more truth than Dean might have meant to let out.

Sam paused for a moment, but the sight of Dean's ass bobbing in his jeans as he turned and sauntered toward the entrance to the bar effectively wiped Sam's brain of all coherent thought and he followed along behind Dean without a word of protest.

Walking into the bar out of the humid Houston night, Sam was as amazed by the scene before him as the handful of other times he had been there before. The darkened space, lit with sexy undertones of purple and pink light that melted into cool beams of blue and green, was alive, _throbbing_ , with a crush of men all around him. The overwhelming scents of sweat and cologne and testosterone hit his nostrils in a heady and powerful rush as electric pulses of dance music thudded from the speakers surrounding the dance floor. The crowd, even the people surrounding the long bar and overflowing into the lounge areas at the edges of the wide space, were moving to the rhythm.

The diversity of the bodies around Sam drew his gaze in a thousand different directions, but it was the sight of the large chandelier hanging above the dance floor that really pulled his attention, it always did; dripping with crystals and elegance, the cut prisms on the gigantic fixture reflected the ever-changing colors in a wide spectrum of light that danced across every surface.

Sam drug his eyes down from the chandelier to see Dean standing before him, bathed in a beautiful wash of blue and green light with a wide grin stretching his lips. He stepped in close to Sam, hooking his fingers in Sam's belt loops and tugging him forward. Sam canted his head down to be able to hear Dean’s voice over the loud music.

"This your first time, baby boy?" Dean asked, settling that sinful mouth right up against Sam's ear.

A shiver wracked through Sam's body at the feel of Dean's hot breath ghosting across his skin and the inherent sexual nature of the question. He swallowed and shook his head.

"I'm the one that drove us here, remember?" Sam replied, pressing his own mouth against Dean's ear and even daring to draw Dean's velvet-soft earlobe in between his teeth.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected sensation and he jerked Sam's hips flush against his own involuntarily. The relentless arousal he'd been tamping down on the drive from Krissy’s house wound even tighter in his gut.

"I'm sorry I wasn't the one to pop your cherry, then," Dean said, shouting to be heard, right as the music ended.

The words hung loudly in the lull between songs and at least a dozen men turned to smirk at them. Some even clapped out a round of applause.

Sam's eyes went wide as saucers and all of the color drained from his face except for two splotches of red high on his cheeks, visible even in the pulsing colored lighting. Dean's heart spasmed painfully for a moment and he instantly felt guilty for embarrassing Sam, even though he hadn't meant to. He wanted nothing more than to make it up to him.

He moved in close again, about to say as much, just as a velvet-curtained stage lit up across the room, signifying that the drag show was about to start. A raucous musical build-up began as the show’s host, Nadine Hughes, stepped out in a gloriously puffy bouffant and a sparkly sequined dress that hugged all of her luscious curves. Sam’s eyes latched on immediately, just like every other person in the audience and Dean took that as his cue to make his way to the bar to buy Sam a drink as his apology and also as a reward for being an amazing getaway driver earlier- he hadn’t forgotten about that.

He patted Sam on the shoulder, motioning toward the bar and miming a drink. Sam nodded with a smile and quickly looked back to the stage, positively entranced by the show unfolding beneath the bright spotlights.

Dean chuckled out a laugh that was instantly drowned out by the music booming around the room and squeezed his way through the crowd to the bar. He stood waiting his turn and glanced to his right, seeing a guy that looked vaguely familiar staring at him at the other end of the bar. The man looked away as soon as they made eye contact and Dean shrugged it off, glancing back to the bar to try and get the server’s attention. He put in an order for two pints of Bohemian Pils fresh off the tap and let his eyes wander around the room again while the order was being filled. His gaze caught the man at the other end of the bar again and this time the man started moving through the crowd, making his way closer. Dean rolled his eyes and put together a polite ‘thank you no thank you” in his head. Getting hit on so soon after arriving was flattering, but he was here with someone.

And suddenly Dean recognized him: Vincent Walsh, a correctional officer from Dean’s time behind bars. A heavy chill settled through Dean’s middle and his stomach twisted up reflexively. Vincent had gained a few pounds since Dean had last seen him, bent over and spitting blood onto the floor from Dean’s heavy punches. Dean had been jumped twice in prison and come out on top both times, figuratively of course, with this piece of filth having made his run at him on Dean’s last day in holding. The man was an inch or so shorter than Dean with greasy black hair slicked back mob style. His flashy Ed Hardy shirt was a size too small and he reeked of desperation.

“Thought I’d never see that pretty mouth of yours again, Smith,” Vincent’s hot breath washed over Dean’s neck as he stepped too close.

“Well I’m a mirage that you are not seeing now.” Dean turned to him, digging his fingers into the other man’s soft chest to push him back a step. “You’re a long way from home, Walsh.”

Ignoring the implied question, Vincent plowed on, “Heard you like poppin’ cherries. Anyone popped yours yet?” He tried to take another step into Dean’s space but was bustled back by a frenzied pair of lovers next to them leaning too hard onto their side of the bar. His lear practically had fingers as it trailed so obviously from Dean’s mouth, down to his groin and then back up again. The knot in Dean’s stomach clenched tighter and he tasted bile at the back of his throat.

“Guess you’ll never know,” Dean replied through clenched teeth, clenched fists shaking at his side.

The sound of heavy glasses thumping on the bar behind them drew Vincent’s eyes away and to the bartender. He pointed one perfectly polished finger at Vincent and rested his other hand on his jutted hip, his muscled arms and bare chest painted with glitter colored roses that matched his bright pink eyeshadow.  

“Are you ordering or just harassing my customers?” The deep baritone drawl of the bartender boomed over the music and the crowd, drawing all eyes to Vincent immediately. The shorter man tossed up his hands to placate the bartender before leaning in once more to whisper to Dean.

“I’ll see you soon, Smith.”

“Not likely,” Dean answered back as Vincent took a few steps backwards before turning into the throng behind him. When he was finally out of eyesight, Dean turned back to the bartender and dropped a fifty.

“Thanks,” he called over the music. “Keep the change.”

“My pleasure, sugar,” the man replied taking the bill off the bar. “You need help with that cherry, you let me know.” He winked at a laughing Dean and tucked the bill into his bright pink short shorts as he moved on to the next customer.

Dean took his time milling through the crowd on his way back to Sam. On edge now, his eyes roamed the bodies and faces of each partier, taking a zigzag path, his mind determined to find any other landmines buried on the dancefloor. Satisfied that Vincent and his guest were the only stowaways from his past, Dean made his approach to Sam, keeping his former guard in his line of sight.

Dean stopped to watch Sam who was bouncing to the music and mouthing the words to “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia,” the tall man sticking out in the mob like a shining star in the darkest night sky. Dean’s mouth was dry and the beer wasn’t helping to calm his anxiety. Sam was brilliant, funny and beautiful. He’d said that Dean had layers but it was Sam that ran deep; his childlike naivete melted into righteous anger or animalistic desire at will and his concern for others was evident in his daily choices. Dean felt his chin warble and his jaw ache at the thought of parting from his newest treasure but Sam really didn’t need someone like Dean to bring him down. _Stars belong high in the sky,_ Dean reminded himself, _not in the slums with trash like me_.

And, as if Dean had called to him, Sam suddenly turned to him, his eyes bright with excitement and frivolity. He reached out for him as if Dean were a lifesaver in a rolling ocean, swaying forward and then back pulling Dean against him, almost spilling the beers in the process. Sam’s lips were wet and hot and eager as they met Dean’s and he laughed when he pulled back. Dean didn’t need to force a smile, Sam’s was contagious.

“Did somebody slip you a mickey?” Dean teased, handing Sam his drink before gulping his back.

“No, man,” Sam chugged his and tossed the cup into the nearest trash can, whispering ‘swish’ as it rolled against the side and then tumbled in. “I just forgot how much fun a drag show can be. Why don’t I come down here more often?” He finished the rest of Dean’s cup, tossed it into the can as well and then turned both of them to the stage, cheering with the rest, for the next performer.

Sam wrapped himself around Dean and rested his chin on his shoulder, his gaze again fixed on the bright lights of the show. This was new for Dean, being the inside spoon while out and about, and a warm rush of security flooded his system, finally easing his nerves. This was something he hadn’t crossed his mind about when thinking about Sam Wesson. Sam was safe and secure, he was hope and a future. Maybe Dean wouldn’t bring Sam down, maybe Sam would lift Dean up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you guys know, the F Bar is an actual, honest to god place that's just amazing as it sounds! We're seriously considering taking a writer's field trip down to Houston just to check it out! If you've been there, let us know if we did the bar justice in our description of it! :D


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was still being held in the warm protection of Sam's arms two songs later, swaying to the music and belting out the last few bars of "Somebody to Love" when his bladder finally decided to tell him it was full.

He turned around to face Sam, settling a heated but quick kiss to his lips. "Nature calls, baby boy," he said, brushing aside a lock of chestnut hair to get to Sam's ear. "I'll be right back."

Sam nodded, giving Dean's hips a little squeeze before letting go. "I'm gonna get us another round," he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the crowded bar.

Dean grinned and took another taste of the beer still lingering on Sam's lips then turned to make his way back to the restrooms. "Sweet Caroline" started with a bang as Dean pushed the door open and he began singing the song under his breath with a smile quirking his mouth, so completely oblivious in that moment from his warm thoughts of Sam that he didn't notice as Vincent stepped in quietly behind him.

Dean made a beeline through the moderately crowded space for the trough-style urinal against the far wall and unzipped, quickly taking care of business so he could get back to Sam and the amazing and unexpected security of those strong arms as fast as possible. He had barely finished tucking his dick back into his jeans and doing up his fly when the fine hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up.

He turned stiffly, unease flooding through him in a sickening push, and just barely caught a glimpse of Vincent’s predatory grin before he was being crowded forcibly into the nearest empty stall by the shorter man. Vincent caged Dean inside, his dark eyes, glassy with obvious inebriation, raking over Dean's body like a slithering caress from a poisonous snake. The heavy and bitter scent of cheap scotch filled the cloistered space and Dean had to swallow back the urge to vomit. He growled and tried to push his way out of the stall, but Vincent, who even with his smaller frame had a good thirty pounds over Dean, pressed forward, pinning him against the steel dividing wall behind him.

"I saw you out there with that twink-looking fuck toy, Smith," Vincent slurred, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Dean's neck, washing his skin in a moist rush of sour air. "With that pansy ass hair and pretty boy face? What a fuckin' joke. You want a real man, Smith. I can see it in your eyes. You want a real man that can fuck you just like you _need_."

He reached down then, groping the front of Dean's pants, squeezing at his cock roughly. All rational thought abandoned Dean, replaced instantaneously with an unrequited fury that crashed through him and burned a red haze of rage into the the edges of his vision.

"Get your fucking hands OFF me!" he screamed, using all of his strength to shove Vincent back.

The shorter man hit the opposite wall with enough force to shake the metal with a dull ringing thud. His eyes narrowed to obsidian slits. "You'll take it and you’ll fucking like it, you little shit," he snarled, advancing toward Dean again, a sneer curling his upper lip.

But this time Dean was ready. He grabbed two fistfuls of Vincent’s shirt and pushed him back through the closed stall door. It smashed open under his weight hard enough to obliterate the small lock in a shower of twisted metal pieces.

Vincent stumbled backward but somehow managed to keep his feet underneath him. Dean rushed him, smashing Vincent’s lower back into a sink and laying down punches to his fat gut with a mindless anger, hardly even feeling the pain lancing through his knuckles with each impact.  

Vincent blocked a few of the hits, bringing his fists up to lay a blow across Dean's chin, splitting his lip. The hot, metallic taste of blood exploded across Dean's tongue, driving his rage even higher. He stumbled back a step and then plowed forward again, grabbing Vincent’s ears and shoving him face first into a knee. The memory of that day in the holding cell, when Vincent had tried to take from Dean what he would never have given him freely, blotted out everything else. Gone were the other men in the restroom that tried to pull the two apart amidst shouts to break it up. Gone were the calls for security.

Dean and Vincent continued to lay into each other, Dean making much more contact than Vincent ever did, and they suddenly found themselves up against the bathroom door, each pushing against it for leverage. And then it gave way with a loud bang as it bounced back against the floor, spilling them out and into the club.

Across the room, Sam noticed the scuffle as he made his way back to their spot from the bar. A circle had formed near the bathroom and the diva on stage was making a joke of the fist fights and Argentina. Being that tall had its perks as he could see over the heads crowding the brawlers. He dropped both cups when he saw Dean as he was yanked from the floor and shoved against the bathroom door frame. His assailant helped another heavier man up from the floor before the two turned back to attack Dean together.

Sam pushed his way through the onlookers, his heart in his throat, as Dean took one to the gut but blocked another to his face. He burst through the last ring as Dean kicked one man into the crowd and right against Sam. He turned the skinny man quickly and planted his fist against the side of the man’s head, knocking him down and stepping over him. Dean grabbed a bottle from another bystander and cracked it over the fat man’s skull and they watched together as he crumpled to the floor as well.

Sam gave his opponent one more kick, insurance against his returning to the fray, but it was Dean that was bloodthirsty. He fell down to straddle the fat man, his knees holding his hands against the floor, as one angry punch after another came crashing down like hammers against the man’s face. Blood splattered across Dean’s shirt, red freckles against the grey henley. The intensity etched onto Dean’s face wrapped a frozen hand around Sam’s heart, fear gripping him sharp and hard.

“Dean!” he called out. “DEAN!”

Dean finally stopped his beating and leaned over the man a moment longer, panting and shaking from the exertion. “Fuck yourself, Walsh,” he growled, venom falling from his lips.

“What?” Sam asked, not comprehending any of this, and pulled Dean back by his shoulders. “Come on, Dean.”

A team of security guards finally swarmed through the crowd, pulling the two broken men from the floor and grabbing Sam and Dean by their arms. Still energized, Dean ripped free and made another run for Vincent.

“Don’t you _ever_ touch-” but Dean’s words were cut short as Sam grabbed him by the waist, dragging him literally kicking and screaming away from the men.

“Dean, stop!” Sam cried out again. Their brawl having interrupted the drag show, silence fell over the bar. What looked to be the security lead gave Sam a push toward the door.

“Look, the witnesses said these guys started this. We’ll clean it up. Just get him out of here.” His grim face left no room for argument and Sam guided Dean away.

Cheers and jeers followed them to the door and Sam was humiliated as they were tossed out onto the sidewalk. Dean paced a small circle before unleashing a feral roar into the night air then made yet another run, this one for the door.

“Dammit, Dean,” Sam huffed, grabbing the furious man by the back of his shirt and pulling him into the alley between buildings. His own anger bubbling, Sam hauled Dean past a dumpster and then shoved him hard against the cold brick wall before demanding, “What the _fuck_ was that?!"

Dean pushed Sam away at first, growling with the rage that was obviously still gripping him, then grabbed his shirt front to pull Sam in close, pressing their foreheads together. He let out a rough but calming breath before answering.

“I’m sorry, Sam, but I told you that I’m not a nice man.” Dean’s voice was a low whisper filled with a mingling of anger and remorse. He wrapped his arms around Sam, suddenly starving for the comfort he’d felt not twenty minutes before. “He… he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Sam felt his own anger melting. What could that man have said to drive Dean to such fury and violence? Was this outburst a regular occurrence for the fearsome creature in his arms? Was Dean always that dangerous?

Sam closed his eyes against his fears, wishing them away and gulping for air, knowing he was about to break the first rule he had ever learned in law school - only ask questions you already know the answers to - but needing to do it anyway. “Dean, is there anything else you need to tell me?” he whispered hoarsely.

But instead of any answer at all, that shuttered and angry vulnerability flashed in Dean's eyes again and he reached up to clasp Sam's shoulders and yank him forward. Sam had to brace his hands on the alley wall to stop himself from stumbling. He was minutely aware of the rough scratch of the bricks against his palms where they pressed on either side of Dean's head.

And then Dean's mouth was assaulting his, his tongue thrusting in deep with powerful and unrelenting strokes, stabbing against his teeth and gums and licking up at his soft palate. Sam nearly choked around the sudden and unexpected intrusion, his subconscious brain shouting out a singular protest at Dean's evasion: _Answer the goddamn question, Dean!_

Sam pushed back from the kiss, panting ragged breaths, his hands still against the wall, about to give voice to that mental demand, to force Dean to answer, but his words caught in his throat and filtered from his mouth in a strangled moan.

Dean was looking up at him through his lashes, green eyes blown nearly to black with arousal, a hell of a shiner already darkening his right cheek, and his fat lip trickling out a fresh well of blood from the rough kiss they had just shared. He looked dangerous and desperate and reckless - a combination that filled Sam's cock and emptied out any rational thoughts in one dizzying rush and he couldn't for the life of him remember why the hell he had just pulled back from that wounded and perfect mouth. If Dean was stalling, he wouldn’t be this aroused, would he? Would Sam?

Sam surged forward, seizing Dean's jaw and holding his head still while his tongue darted out to lick up the thin trickle of blood running down Dean's chin. The taste of it was sharp and dark and devastatingly alive and it obliterated the very last vestiges of his already waning self-control. He pressed Dean back into the wall and his mouth found Dean's again, plundering as deeply as Dean had done only moments before.

Pure unadulterated _want_ sparked across every inch of Dean's skin like electric fire from that kiss, heating his blood and expanding his already hardening cock, and he let out a low, hoarse whimper into Sam's open and ravaging mouth.

Through the explosion of desire their kisses released, Dean formed a plan. Sam had come close, far too close, to finding out the hidden truth of Dean's past and while he knew on some level that it would all come to light eventually, he had every intention of holding it off for as long as possible; it was purely for selfish reasons and Dean damn well knew it. Losing Sam was not something he was prepared to do, now or ever, if he had anything to say about it. And since he already knew how easy it was to distract Sam, and even though he felt an uneasy twinge of guilt pinch at his heart for even considering it, Dean decided that his best course of action would be to take Sam's curious mind off those questions in the only way he knew how.

He tore his mouth away from Sam’s, nuzzling into the sweaty curve of his neck, and flattened out his tongue to lathe a hot wet stripe of saliva all along the thudding pulse hidden just under the surface of his skin.

“I need you, Sammy. I need you so fuckin’ bad,” he rasped, dragging his hands down Sam’s chest and belly and stopping to cup the bulge straining in his jeans.  

Sam gasped, jerking his hips forward into the touch. “Let me take you back to my place,” he said on a moan. “I can get us there in five minutes.”

Dean shook his head, humping his crotch forward to nudge his straining erection right up against Sam’s. “Here, Sammy, fuck me right here. I can’t wait, not even five goddamn _seconds_.”

Sam stilled, the prospect of getting caught making him tense, and he tried pulling back but Dean held him in close. “Here, Dean? I - I don’t know if -”

“Yes, Sammy. Right here, right fuckin’ now.” Dean paused for effect, lowering his voice as he continued. “Make me forget.”

Sam was still uncertain, but he drug the tip of his nose against the sensitive flesh behind Dean’s ear, washing his neck in a hot breath when he panted, “Forget what, Dean?”

Dean swallowed hard, knowing he might be pushing it too far, but not willing to stop at the of risk losing Sam to a past he couldn’t change even though he’d tried. “Make me forget his hands on me, Sam.”

Sam did pull back then, looking down at Dean with confused shock before the hazel was awash with an intense jealousy. “Who? That guy in there? Dean, did he…”

“I told you he wouldn’t take no for an answer, Sammy.”

The rage that had overtaken Dean in the bar came rushing back at the memory of Vincent crowding him into that stall, the memory of what he had tried so many years before that. He felt Sam’s eyes on him as the fury burned through him in a cresting and violent wave of fire the left him vulnerable and shaking. And then he framed Sam’s face with his hands, lurching forward to take his mouth again, wordlessly offering up a plea for Sam to reclaim him.

Sam parted his lips with a growl, his hands shaking now with territorial anger and an impatient need to mark his turf. He pried himself away from Dean and took a step back towards to the street, intent on making a much more definite impression on the disgusting loser that had the nerve to touch what was his alone. Dean read Sam’s intent immediately and caressed his cheek, turning his face back to his own.

“I’m mad too, Sam,” he made his voice small and pleading, “but I need you here.”

Reluctantly, Sam relented and let Dean pull him back into the shadow of the wall, but the pulsing need to defend, mark and own pounded in his fevered head. Sam leaned in, letting his need melt into a demanding kiss that threatened to suffocate them both.

“He’ll never touch you again, Dean,” Sam vowed against the corner of Dean’s mouth, shoving him roughly back against the brick wall. “Nobody will.”

A powerful and turbulent flood of arousal wracked through Dean at the possessiveness of Sam’s words, his ploy working as intensely on himself as on Sam, and he suddenly found himself being turned to face the wall behind him. He splayed his hands out against the jagged surface of the cold bricks, canting his ass back enticingly. He moaned shamelessly when Sam’s large hand came around, squeezing and massaging at his dick through his jeans. A thick blurt of precome soaked the front of Dean's boxers and he shivered with a violent jerk.

Sam's body covered Dean’s, pressing forward until Dean’s cheek was flat against the cold wall. And then that hand undid Dean’s fly, with the other coming around to yank his jeans and boxers down to his thighs in one fluid movement, baring his ass to the cool night air.

And then Sam's voice was suddenly in his ear, heavy and insistent when he said, "I'm gonna make you come so hard, my name will be the _only_ thing you'll remember."

Dean almost came from those words alone. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled in a deep breath that was full of damp Houston air and Sam's aftershave and he whimpered.

"Please, Sammy," he begged, tucking his chin to hide he lustful grin.

There was a grunt behind him, followed by the rustle of Sam's clothes and the sound of a thick wad of saliva splatting into Sam's palm. Dean pushed his ass back, about ready to fucking explode if Sam didn't fill him up soon.

He didn't have to wait long at all because in the very next second one of Sam's hands was gripping his left hip and the fat, swollen head of his huge dick was pressing in between the cleft of his ass cheeks. Sam nudged his spit-slick cockhead over Dean's hole, spreading the moisture around the furled entrance, which was thankfully still partially stretched from their romp earlier that morning.

Sam pushed forward without another moment's hesitation, thrusting his cock deep up in Dean's ass. Dean let out a hiss at the burn and forced his body to relax, to accept and loosen around the intrusion of Sam's monster dick. He kept his hands splayed wide on the wall and felt one of Sam's come up to grip the back of his neck, using Dean's body as a leverage against the thrusts that he quickly began exacting with a frantic snap of his hips.

The rough brick scraped against Dean's cheek where it was still pressed against the wall with each deep plunge and he sobbed out a keening moan when Sam angled lower, hitting his prostate with rapid stabs on each upstroke.

"Oh fuck, _Sammy_ ," he cried, doing his best to hump back into the brutal pace Sam had set, but losing momentum when his his entire lower half tightened.

"You gonna come for me, Dean?" he panted against the back of Dean's neck. "Oh yeah, I can feel it. You're gonna come. For me and _only_ me."

Sam's hand was suddenly wrapping around Dean's neglected and agonizingly hard cock, jacking it with dry but absolutely necessary strokes that brought Dean to the very cusp of orgasm with only three pumps of his fist.

He cried out for Sam as he came, draining what felt like his entire body out through the end of his spasming dick, painting the brick wall white with his spend. And he really did forget everything else then, everything but Sam, who was all around him, deep inside him, so close to him in that moment that Dean didn't know where he ended and Sam began.

Sam felt Dean sag forward against the wall and he had to bring an arm around his waist to hold him up, still fucking deep into his ass, chasing frantically after his own orgasm. Dean's hole was completely loose now, fucked open and lax, offering no resistance at all for Sam's thrusts. He growled deep and low, snapping his hips up roughly, so fucking close now.

And then Dean was looking back at Sam over his shoulder, a smile Sam couldn't quite see glinting in his eye as Sam continued pounding into him. He reached his hand back, feeding his fingers into Sam's slack mouth and Sam's eyes flew open wide at the sudden taste of Dean's come as it dissolved salty and bitter across his tongue. The utter unexpectedness of it punched the orgasm right out of him.

He pulled Dean close against him with one arm, the other braced against the wall, and slammed up inside of him as deep as he could go, releasing his load in a hot, pulsing rush. He shuddered and buried his face against Dean’s back, his arms tightening into a rib crushing bear hug. Sam pressed them both flush to the wall, his hand protecting Dean’s spent cock from the brick, letting them gasp for breath through the final cresting waves of the pleasure induced high. Moments passed in a blissful silence disturbed only by the faint pounding of music from the long forgotten club.

And then Dean felt it. He felt Sam tense and go rigid against his back before pulling out and away.

“Oh my god, Dean. I’m so sorry,” Sam’s green eyed monster now appeased, he stared as his cum dripped down the inside of Dean’s thighs. The sight took his breath away but a paralyzing fear closed his throat and no more words would come to him. As he watched Dean pull up his boxers and jeans, quickly following suit, guilt and Sam’s familiar friend, insecurity, whispered to him about stupidity, selfishness and parting ways.

“Don’t be,” was Dean’s reply, nonchalant and relaxed. “I would have stopped you if I didn’t want you to, baby boy.” They’d been so careful up until now, using protection every time, Dean was insistent, but his smile was almost a drunken one as he leaned back against the wall, a hand held out to pull Sam to him.

“I don’t want to sound like _that_ asshole, but you make me crazy, Dean,” Sam was almost whining as he leaned his head down and against the crook of Dean’s neck, his voice now muffled. “I don’t think when I want you. Everything else gets jumbled and cloudy and all I can think about is you.”

Sam felt the rumble of Dean’s laugh and, when he looked up, felt the need to explain himself. “I’m clean, I promise. I get checked every year like clockwork.” His brows knitted together in that face that made Dean melt.

“Who doesn’t, Sam?” he asked gently. “We probably should have talked about this first, but I wasn’t really thinking either. I’m safe too so you don’t need to worry.”

Dean searched his face for a sign of relief but tears welled up in Sam’s eyes instead as understanding had him nod his head in agreement. How was Sam able to flip like this? It made Dean’s head spin and he folded Sam against him again. _You should protect him, not lie to him,_ the thought whispered in Dean's mind, _especially if..._

“Just think of all the money we’ll save on condoms,” Dean joked and he pushed Sam back just enough to plant a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s go home, Gigantor. We can play some more if you’re up to it.”

Sam blushed at that and let himself be lead back down the alley and towards the car. He wiped his face with his free hand and working the tension of unshed tears from his jaw. He wasn’t able to voice what he felt about this impromptu triste; he’d had an epiphany as he watched the evidence of his desire slide down Dean’s thigh. He kept his mouth shut as they walked, a new word bouncing in his head that complimented “beautiful” and “insatiable.” It was a four letter word that he was not yet able to accept. A four letter word that happened to start with an  **L**.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean pulled his baby into her usual parking space, the early morning sun just cresting the trees above the shop. Mondays sucked on a regular week but, coming after his amazing weekend with Sam, this particular Monday carried a mean vacation hangover.

Sunday had flown by in a blur of music, laughter and stories from both men. Sam shared about growing up underfoot at a bar with his mother Ellen, how he and his sister Jo learned to shoot with his dad Bobby and what a horrible short order cook he turned out to be, despite his love of food. Sam’s animated storytelling had Dean at some times in full belly laughs and at others quietly nodding his understanding, Sam’s sorrow at the loss of his sister still fresh after so many years. Dean’s own tales of a small town hoodlum painted a picture of himself as bad boy with a heart of gold and a pension for cheesy pickup lines and Sam loved it.

As he climbed out of his car, Dean smiled at the memories he’d made over the weekend and then grimaced as the scab on his lip tugged and threatened to open again. He slipped his sunglasses on to cover his black eye and made his way towards the shop. He hadn’t had this much damage from a bar fight since college. Man, he was getting old.

Benny looked up right when Dean walked in, rounding the small counter near the front door with the day’s schedule on a clipboard in his left hand. He let out a low whistle when he took in the sight of Dean’s face, the sunglasses doing little to hide the bruised state of it. “I’d hate t’ see the other guy,” he said with a forced chuckle, his eyes holding more than a trace of worry as he looked Dean over.

Dean shrugged, taking the proffered clipboard from Benny’s hand and giving it a cursory glance. “Aw man, you’re givin’ me the 711 Main? You know the sun hits that building like a bitch at one o’clock, right?” he groused, trying his best to avoid the conversation he knew Benny had already been lining up since he had walked in.

“This was more’n a good ole bar brawl, wasn’t it, Dean,” Benny asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “And don’t you tryin’ to lie to me, chief, cause I’ve known you long enough to know when you are.”

Dean sighed, pulling his sunglasses off and leaning his back up against the waist-high counter beside him. He kept his eyes cast down, finding a chip in the tiled floor and focusing on it, knowing without looking that Benny’s eyebrows had probably shot up to his hairline when he saw the dark purplish bruise smudged under his eye. The swelling had gone down a lot, thanks to Sam’s strict regimen of cold compresses and ibuprofen, but the shiner still looked pretty gruesome. He was glad that his shirt covered the bruises along his ribs, more decoration than actual injury at this point.

At his silence, Benny stepped in close, grabbing Dean's chin and forcing him to meet him eyes. "If  that boy laid hands on you, brother, he's got a heap a trouble headed his way." Benny shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly agitated and antsy, clenching his free hand into a fist.

Dean's brows wrinkled in confusion before pulling back. "What? No."

As the older of the two, Benny had been playing big brother to Dean and his antics since sharing a dorm back at KU. He’d had input in everything from class choices to ‘love’ interests but the reliance went both ways. They didn’t realize it then, but Benny’s short stint in the military before college had left him with mild case of PTSD. Skills Dean had learned at home with his father found a new life as he stood with Benny for every panic attack, flashback and flash of rage that hit him that first year in college. Their friendship was forged in blood, literally, as they’d made themselves known for bar brawls and attitude before pledging the fraternity together.

Dean rolled his eyes, waved Benny away with the clipboard and stepped around the counter to find a pencil. Benny would be immovable until Dean explained his face and he felt Benny’s sharp eyes on him as he dug through a few drawers to stall.

"Seriously, Sam did not do this," Dean replied. He started making adjustments to the schedule as he continued, glad to be in before the others. "It was Vincent Walsh."

Dean waited for the name to surface in Benny's memory, tapping the pencil against the counter. "He was a guard in my unit for most of my stay. You know the one," Dean assured.

When recognition crossed his face, Benny's stocky build seemed to inflate as he straightened and involuntarily flexed his arms. "You mean that sum bitch that tried to jump you? How'd he even find you?"

Dean set down the schedule, satisfied now that he had all the choice locations, and relayed the fight at the F Bar. He skipped the juicy bits about the alley but left enough sappy details about Sam to garner a few chuckles. Up to speed now, Benny placed a hand to Dean shoulder and leveled a stern gaze to his eyes.

"I've seen you swinging bedpost to bedpost for years, man, but you ain't never talked about one like you talk about Sam. If he saw you throw down with Walsh, he's gonna want to know all of it. You pass any of your history on yet?"

Dean's eyes, confident and attentive a moment before, glossed over and met the counter. He’d known the big man was going to ask about that too. Benny was the only friend, frat brothers included, that stood with him when he’d been arrested and knew the whole story. He’d even visited him once a month before moving to Houston to open his shop. Even after his move, his letters came in regularly and he kept Dean up to date on the simple pleasures on the outside.

“Not yet,” Dean confessed, jaw clenching in sudden frustration before letting out an angry huff. “I want to, Benny. I want to tell him everything, but he’s a junior DA. How do you think that's gonna work out for me?”

Benny softened then, memories of wooing Andrea reminding him of how hard it was to share the past. But Benny did share and it had lead to the amazing relationship he had now.

“Look, I know this is a new thing for y’all and it’s easy to hide for now, but you if you wanna keep him around a good while, you have to share it eventually, Brother. If he’s a DA, he’s gonna figure it out sooner or later. Boy can’t be _that_ stupid.” Benny paused for a second as if collecting his thoughts. “Well he may be a _little_ bit stupid, rolling around with the likes of you.”

Dean sucked his teeth and took a playful swing at Benny, “Don’t think that just because I’m a little banged up, I can’t kick your ass.”

Dean should have seen it coming but didn’t until he was in a headlock with a laughing Benny poking his bruised face with his forefinger. “Oh I know how tough you are, little man. I hope he’s not as stupid as you. What’re you thinkin’ coming at me with half ass punches and shit?”

Dean pushed against the heavier man’s side, wiggling to get free and finally huffed in defeat. “Dammit, Benny!”

Chuckling, Benny tightened his hold before demanding that Dean talk to Sam. It took three more pokes and smack to his forehead, but Dean agreed and Benny set him free.

“I hate you,” Dean mumbled, grabbing the keys to his work truck then his stack of work orders, heading to the door to start loading up for the day.

“No you don’t,” Benny countered. “It’s not nice to lie. Talk to him!” he called as the office door closed behind Dean.

Dean slipped his sunglasses back on as he trudged over to his truck, work orders in hand. He’d promised to talk to Sam about prison and he would. Just not any time soon.

////////

Sam stood looking out his office window that Monday afternoon, much like he had been that first day he had seen Dean, a nearly empty cup of cold coffee in his hand and on his way to the break room for a refill. He gazed out at the sun-baked high rises comprising the heart of downtown Houston, silently hoping that Dean's window washing scaffold would slide down and he'd be treated to another show.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head lightly, knowing _logically_ that it'd be another six months before the windows would be scheduled for their next cleaning, but wishing for another chance to see Dean just the same.

His eyes took on a far away look, thinking back over the last three days. He had spent the entire weekend with the man -- beside him, beneath him, on top of him, even giving him a goodbye kiss on the front porch of his cabin not more than six damn hours ago -- and still Sam craved more.

He sighed deeply and brought up a hand to rub across the back of his neck, absently dipping a finger below his starched collar to brush against the love bite Dean had placed there last night. Sam had felt the beginnings of an ache forming deep in his chest from being apart from him even on just the drive in to work this morning, but it didn't alarm him in the least.

He was falling hard and he knew it. What reason did he really have to try and stop himself? Dean was amazing, and in so many more ways than just being a mind-blowing sex god; he was thoughtful, attentive, sensitive, good with kids... Sam could spend the entire day listing more attributes and still only barely scratch the surface of how incredible Dean was. He was even thinking about asking Dean to take a trip out to South Dakota to meet his parents- something he had never considered doing with any other man he'd been with.

The actual _intensity_ of the feelings Dean continued to draw from him was the only thing that gave Sam pause. Was he being too overbearing in his affection? He certainly didn't want to drive Dean away, and with the possessive and passionate glimpse of his jealous side showing again in the alley, Sam was surprised he hadn't. But Dean had shown a side of himself that was almost as frightening that night, hadn't he, after beating the ever living hell out of that guy in the bar.

How could Sam even hold that against him though, after what that man had tried doing to him? A burning rush of residual anger simmered low in Sam's gut and he tightened his grip around his mug almost hard enough to break it. The beating that man had received didn't even come _close_ to what he deserved for touching Dean, for _hurting_ Dean. Sam wheeled back toward his desk, punching the button on his phone that rang directly to his admin assistant, Becky, wanting, no _needing_ to find out who exactly that bastard was and bring him up on charges of assault.

"Yes sir, Mr. Wesson?" Becky asked politely.

"I need you to research someone for me," Sam said, standing over his desk and leaning toward the phone, his finger jabbing the speaker button down. He did his best to keep his voice calm even though his chest was suddenly heaving with angry pants. "Last name Walsh, stands about five foot five, black hair, brown eyes."

It didn't even cross Sam's mind to wonder how Dean knew the man's last name or how he remembered Dean saying it. He distractedly brushed a lock of hair from his eyes before continuing, "Start with any police reports you can find from Saturday night at the F Bar."

"I'll get on it as soon as I can but I might not be able to pull anything for a few days with the mediation we have going on for the Scranton case tomorrow," Becky said, her words following the quick tapping of computer keys.

A tic bunched Sam's jaw but he nodded, blowing a built up breath through pursed lips. "That's fine, Becky, thank you. Just get back to me as soon as you get any information."

He clicked the speaker button off and slumped down in his office chair, mildly concerned with the tremble in his hand. He pulled his fingers into a fist and thumped it on his bouncing and restless knee. Falling this hard might not have been a problem for Sam, but maybe falling this fast was.

////////////////

Two days, seven hours and one stressful and ultimately fruitless mediation later, Sam was standing on Dean's porch. He was tired and swaying a bit on his feet but was excited down to his bones to see him. Work kept him late the last two nights but, with the mediation behind him, he could finally take an early day. _Does leaving at four thirty instead of seven thirty count as an early day?_

He reached a hand out to ring the doorbell, readjusting his overnight duffle on his shoulder, absently wondering when it might be appropriate to broach the subject of leaving a few necessities at Dean's place. Dean seemed to be planning on keeping them there more than Sam’s apartment but was it too soon to ask? Should he just start leaving a few things without mentioning it and see if Dean would even bring it up? Would that freak Dean out?

Sam sighed, carding a hand through his hair. He was finding more and more how little he knew about any of the relationship rules that were beginning to present themselves lately. _You're thinking too much, Sam_ , he chided himself, _Calm down and just let things happen, okay?_

The thud of Dean's footsteps pulled Sam from his musings and suddenly the door was being opened. Soft warm light and a cool puff of conditioned air flowed around Dean as he stood at the threshold. He wore low slung jeans and a black undershirt with an olive colored flannel  thrown on over that brought out the green in his eyes. Sam's heart did a somersault in his chest, much like it did every time he saw Dean, and he smiled, the stress from the day melting away in an instant.

Dean returned his smile with one of his own, his eyes travelling Sam's body in a slow glide that rushed across Sam's skin almost as surely as if he'd been touched. He shivered and cleared his throat as Dean stepped back, motioning for Sam to enter.

"You know you can just walk in, right?" Dean asked with a chuckle. "You don't need to ring the bell anymore, Sammy."

Dean led Sam toward the wide open living space with a hand at the small of his back and Sam just barely caught Dean's next words. They were spoken under his breath and to himself, "I should get him a key made."

Sam turned back toward Dean, not entirely sure he'd heard right, but was met by the soft press of Dean's lips before he could speak. Dean pulled back after a moment, Sam's mouth chasing after it for another taste. Dean chuckled lightly, bringing a hand up to stroke across Sam's cheek.

"Hi there, baby boy," he said, pulling Sam's duffle from his shoulder. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Hi," Sam replied with a contented smile.

But as his gaze took in the the sight of Dean's black eye and the scabbed over cut on his lip, his smile faded. The swelling had gone down a lot, the bruise on its way to disappearing completely, but the memory of what had happened would never leave Sam. He swallowed thickly, following Dean back toward the kitchen, shucking his suit coat and undoing the knot on his tie as he went. Damn, but he wished Becky could get to his inquiry already.

"So, I've been thinking," Sam began, grabbing the bottle of beer Dean handed to him from the fridge.

Dean smiled, reaching over to pop the top with a bottle opener before cracking open his own. "I love it when you use that big beautiful brain of yours, Sammy."

Sam blushed and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He looked down at the beer in his hand without taking a drink. "Yeah, well, I've been thinking about what happened on Saturday." He was keeping his eyes cast down and didn't see Dean stiffen momentarily beside him.

"A lot happened on Saturday," Dean interrupted, exasperation darkening his voice. “I told you I’m fine, Sam. Just leave it.” He turned his back to Sam to stare out the large kitchen window, taking a long pull from the beer bottle. Conversation over.

But it wasn’t.

“I know you said that, Dean,” Sam stepped to Dean’s side, set his untouched beer on the counter and held Dean’s hand with his own. “You said it like ten times but -”

“It’s only a big deal if you make it a big a deal, Sam,” Dean cut him off harshly, taking a step away from the counter and him. “You think that’s the first time I went all Mike Tyson on some handsy asshole? I don’t need protecting.” (lie) “Or saving.” (LIE!)

“If that guy put his hands on you that night, how do we know he doesn’t do this all the time? What if there are other victims out there?”

“You don’t need to save everyone!” Dean snarled, startling even himself, his temper burning hotter than he’d realized. A hurt caressed Sam’s brows, drawing them together and up, his eyes suddenly glistening in the late afternoon sunlight.

Feeling every bit the jackass, Dean immediately started to backpedal, “I didn’t mean that, Sammy. I know why you do it, I do, but you think I want to make a statement every time I get unwanted attention? You know how often that happens with this mug?”  The last was said with a grin and a wink, desperate for forgiveness.

Sam nodded and leaned back against the counter. And then Dean watched with fascinated relief when that sweet and boyish grin crept across Sam’s face, pink washing his cheeks. “Okay so I’ve pushed away a grabby asshole or two myself, but he was touching you and that just feels personal. I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I can’t help it, Dean. You’re….”

“I know,” Dean came to his rescue with a strong embrace. “But I just need you. Right here. With me. So just let it go, okay?” Dean pulled back and watched the Sam’s inner debate rage across his face.

Shifting his weight, Dean used his body to press Sam further back against the counter, his distracting hands untucking Sam’s dress shirt as he continued, voice muffled from its place at Sam’s collar, “Besides, he’s had his ass handed to him before. I’m sure it’ll get handed to him again.”

Trying to quiet his worry, Sam sighed into Dean’s touch for a moment before his words sunk in. Cognitive dissonance. That phrase popped into Sam’s head as his ‘big beautiful brain’ tried to process and organize this new piece. He pushed Dean back forcefully, more so than he’d meant to do.

“You know him?” Sam’s question wasn’t so much accusatory as pained. “How do you know he’d been hurt before? You knew his name, Dean. If he’s an ex… we should talk about him, right?”

Dean let out a heavy sigh and pulled away completely, leaning against the counter across from Sam. “Dude, he introduced himself first” (lie) “and he had a scar on his lower lip” (truth - _I gave it to him_ ) “just like the one I’ll have when this heals,” Dean pointed to his own lips and then continued. “He’s not an ex” (truth - _he wishes_ ) “and I’ve never seen that bathroom casanova before” (LIE) “but I’m sure he’s learned his lesson.” (probably a lie).

Dean brought his gaze up to look Sam in the eyes, pleading for him to believe his half truths even as his heart and mind both screamed at him to confess. Sticking to his story now would guarantee no forgiveness later, but that was only _if_ Sam found out and really, prison was so long ago and Kansas was so far away, he hoped it would never become a problem.

“Fine,” Sam finally relented. “But if he pops up at all, I am so throwing the book at him, Dean. I’m not letting him get away with touching what doesn’t belong to him. And I know the next person can’t kick his ass like you did.”

Dean’s ego preened against his will and he let a grin crack his face. “Compliments will get you everywhere, Sammy,” he crooned. He stepped forward, settling his hands on Sam's hips and pressing his body forward. They fit against each other perfectly. "Now, how about we get some dinner started?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again and always to everyone who has read, commented on, and left kudos for this story! We are so amazed by the amount of love we are getting for these two boys! Stay tuned for more hot, steamy fun cumming, I mean coming *cough cough* soon in the next chapter! ^u^


	14. Chapter 14

Sam stood in the warm waning light of the setting sun in Dean's kitchen and felt his stomach twist nervously at Dean's words: ‘how about we get some dinner started,’ with _we_ being the major culprit of that sudden onset of anxiety. He was a terrible cook, completely awful if he was being totally honest, and the prospect of making an entire meal, even with Dean's help, was more than a little daunting. True, he had cooked Dean that breakfast of French toast just last Saturday, but that was really the only recipe he knew how to make without burning the goddamn house down or giving someone food poisoning.

He pulled his face back from Dean's, distracted for a moment by the play of the day's dying light reflected in those remarkable green eyes. "I don't know if you want me cooking for you, Dean," he said with a shaky laugh, "I almost caught my kitchen on fire just trying to boil water. _Twice_."

Dean smiled, delicate and utterly sexy wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes with the sincerity of it, and he pushed away from Sam's body slowly.

"I have faith in you, Sammy,” Dean said gently. “And a fire extinguisher in the pantry,” he said, not so gently but with an open mouthed and teasing smile.

He made his way back to the fridge and started pulling ingredients out much as he had last time. “It’ll be a breeze, I promise, and I’ll even let you do body shots if you can keep the destruction to a minimum.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide as items materialized onto the counter. Was there a blender there before? How could he be sure that the cutting board was sanitary? Did Dean really need so many sharp knives? He gulped and slipped his hands into his pockets in an effort to look small and forgettable. Of course he hadn’t gained all that weight from not eating, but his aversion to his own charred food drove him to cheeseburgers and pizza joints back then. Even now, he had take out from the organic cafe down the block most nights and, honestly, even _he_ couldn’t fuck up a salad.

“Ya know,” he started, tiptoeing backwards from the kitchen, “I’m gonna put my stuff away and change before -”

“Oh no you don’t!” Dean swept across the tiles and grabbed Sam to him, not at all impressed with the escape strategy.

Discarding the tie, Dean unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, exposing the tank top underneath. Loose articles could be a hazard and he wanted Sam as comfortable as possible. Dean felt cooking and sharing food was almost as important as good sex and he was about to impart that lesson to Sam.

As he continued to divest him of his dress shirt and then drag him back towards the counter, Dean’s voice became as soothing as it was commanding.

“Tonight you are going to make the best spaghetti sauce I’ve ever tasted and you will be so proud of yourself that you’ll let me fuck you right here on the kitchen floor as a reward for a job well done.”

Sam blushed instantly, the red creeping into his hairline and to the tips of his ears. “Not that I’m complaining, but who actually gets the reward? I mean that sounds awesome but are we talking _food_ ‘job well done’ or Dean-not-choking-me-for-ruining-dinner ‘job well done?’ Because I’m happy either way, I just want to be clear about who’s getting what…”

Sam stopped talking when he realized that Dean was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you done?” Dean asked with a mischievous tilt to his head. “Because I’m hungry and stalling will only make me cranky.” He leaned in and quickly pressed his teeth to Sam’s bare shoulder. “And I really want dinner _before_ dessert this time.”

Sam groaned, trying to sink closer to Dean, but was quickly met with a tisk and a wagging finger. "Ah ah ah, baby boy," Dean scolded, "Not until you finish making dinner!"

Sam tried for a pout, knowing it was Dean's weakness, but Dean only chuckled and turned him around to face the counter. "Save it, Sammy. Those puppy dog eyes aren't gonna work on me this time."

Sam sighed in defeat and looked down at the countertop, trying to deduce from all of the ingredients what exactly it was he'd be making. The pasta sauce he knew as much just from Dean already telling him, but the rest was a mystery. Spaghetti maybe?  “Okay,” he said, shaking the tension from his hands and shoulders, “What first?”

Dean came up beside him, depositing a large handful of plum tomatoes beside the cutting board, followed next by an onion and a thick head of garlic. Sam looked at the vegetables and then at the wide array of very sharp looking knives arranged by blade length on a cloth towel near his right hand. He gulped and glanced over his shoulder to see Dean open a large bowl of seasoned olive oil and inhale the spicy scent.

Dean’s eyes met his for a moment. “What’re you waiting for there, Sammy?” he asked, setting the bowl down to turn the broiler to high. “Get to chopping!”

Sam nodded dutifully and looked back to the cutting board. He set one of the tomatoes on the board and grabbed one of the larger knives, curling his hand around the blade tightly. He tried to hold the rolly tomato still, thinking of the best way to go about slicing it up, then shrugged and decided to just go at it.

"Whoa, whoa there, baby boy!" Dean said, suddenly at his side. "That's a helluva good way to lose a finger. Here, hold the knife like this instead and make sure you curl your fingers under so you don't cut yourself. A trip to the ER wasn't in my plans tonight."

Sam gave him a small smile and tried to do like Dean instructed, but he couldn't quite get a good hold on the little tomato; his long fingers kept getting in the way.

Dean chuckled lightly and moved behind him, settling his body right against Sam's back. He looped his arms around, his hands coming up to cover Sam's. "Here, like this," he said with a low, amused voice.

Sam swallowed thickly, acutely feeling the press of Dean's groin against his backside, but tried his best to be a good student. He blinked and looked down to where Dean's hands entwined with his own, Dean’s dark from the sun and calloused from his work. They were as gentle as they were forceful and he moved their hands together to slice through the soft flesh of the tomato with smooth, even strokes.

"There you go, Sammy," Dean said against the back of Sam's neck, making him shiver. "Nothin' to it."

Suddenly slicing the tomato felt like an intimate act and Dean’s thumb, drawing the occasional small circle on his wrist, was an illicit lover leading him into temptation. After a few passes, Dean stepped back to let Sam try by himself but the sticky pull of attraction and arousal draped itself between them like wet mist.

Hyper aware now of Dean’s movements around the space, Sam used the same technique Dean showed him while his imagination filled in the gaps where’s Dean’s flesh had been pressed to his. While Dean splashed a bowl with a few generous shakes from a bottle of olive oil, Sam squished all the juice out of one section by holding it too hard, his hands itching to caress Dean’s skin with the same force.

He stiffened in a delicious anticipation when Dean stepped near again and found that he was cutting lopsided chunks, his mind more interested in the smell of Dean’s hair as he reached across Sam for the bread knife than in the smell of chopped vegetables. Frustration trickled in as he was then ignored on behalf of a loaf of Italian bread and he finished chopping the tomatoes and the rest of the vegetables as quickly as he could and without much finesse.

With the vegetables diced within an inch of their lives and tossed in a large bowl, Dean directed Sam to the stove, where a large saute pan sat, already warming the oil covering the bottom. Without hesitation, Dean sunk his hand into the bowl of veggies letting the tomato, onion and garlic swallow him up before turning over the mixture and grabbing a small handful to throw into the pan. Sam’s jaw tightened at the sizzle and heat in Dean’s eyes.

“You gotta ease your way in when it gets just the right kind of hot,” Dean said, stepping closer to Sam and giving the bowl a shake as an offer to try. “You have to _feel_ it and _want_ it to be good. That’s when it’s best.”

Watching Dean watch him, Sam buried his hand in the cool, wet bowl and pulled back with the same sized handful before turning to the pan and sprinkling the ingredients into the oil. They took turns from then, one adding, one stirring, all the while Dean murmuring encouragements to Sam, ‘doing so good, Sammy’ and ‘it’s beautiful, right.’

And it was beautiful; the aroma of sauteing garlic, Dean’s cologne and Sam’s want filled the kitchen in waves and left Sam’s mouth watering. When Dean turned down the heat, preparing to move on, Sam leaned in, desire finally overruling obedience. He caught Dean against the counter, the bowl of ground turkey bumping the shorter man’s elbow as he was pushed back, a knowing chuckle escaping him before melting into a moan.

Sam’s hands were on Dean, one curling behind him to caress the skin on his back under his shirt even as the other forced the button and fly of his jeans down.

“But I’m hungry, Sam” Dean growled, his own hands busy too with miles of skin and hair and clothes. “Maybe I should just eat _you_ ,” Dean wondered against Sam’s neck before sweeping his leg and knocking Sam onto the floor and onto his back.

Sam let out a surprised grunt when he landed just as Dean dropped to his knees between Sam’s legs and began to work his belt, fingers urgent but coordinated. Sam jerked his hips up involuntarily, biting his bottom lip between his teeth to stop a desperate gasp from tumbling from his mouth. Suddenly taking control didn't have any appeal for Sam. After his stressful week and the swirl of worry about Dean and his well being, lying back and letting go called to him, whispered all the dirty things he wanted to have done to him. His need was immediate.

Dean chuckled, reaching his hands out to grasp the top of Sam’s now undone slacks, tugging them down along with his boxers in a series of pulls and yanks until they were off completely and both men were panting and flushed with anticipation.

Dean sat back on his haunches, his eyes raking over Sam laid out before him, clad in his white ribbed undershirt and nothing else. With his hair mussed and a little wild and a faint sheen of perspiration slicking across his forehead and neck, Sam really did look good enough to eat.

Dean curled forward, using one firm hand on Sam's chest to press him to the floor and brought the other to wrap around the base of Sam's cock. He dipped down, whetting his lips before swirling his tongue around the swollen head, eagerly lapping up the precome that dribbled out of the slit.

Sam moaned loudly, his hands coming down to tangle in Dean's short hair, trying to push Dean's mouth further onto his dick. But Dean held off, letting just the very tip of his tongue dip into that now copiously weeping slit. He wanted this as much as Sam did, had been looking forward to it for fucking _days_ , but tonight he wanted to take Sam apart slowly. He wanted to push Sam so far, to drive him so close to the edge and then ease him back so many times that Sam would be desperate and begging for release and would just fall apart under Dean's hands right there on the kitchen floor.

He swallowed thickly, bringing the heel of one hand down to press against his own aching dick where it strained against his underwear poking through his open jeans while the other tightened its grip around the thick base of Sam's cock. Sam keened sharply, arching his back up off the floor. Dean pulled his hand up from where it pressed against his own erection to rub soothing circles across Sam's lower belly, the muscles there already tight with building tension.

Dean released the squeeze he had around Sam's cock and Sam panted out a harsh, ragged breath as if he had been holding it in the entire time Dean's hand had been on him; perhaps he had. Dean moved his head down again, but instead of sucking down Sam's cock, he canted to the left, burying his nose in the sparse and coarse hair in the crook of his thigh, pulling in a deep scent of Sam's musk.   

Sam bucked his hips up with a moan, his cock bobbing with the movement and slapping up against Dean's temple. Dean hummed appreciatively and sucked a red mark into the sensitive skin right next to Sam's sac.

"Fuck, Dean!" Sam cried out, his hands instantly coming down to pull at Dean's hair. "Oh god, please, Dean, _please_."

Dean smirked wickedly. _We're getting there, baby boy_ , he thought to himself, bringing his mouth down to press wet, lingering kisses along the inside of Sam's thigh then moving higher to Sam's belly, pushing up the hem of his tank and flicking his tongue out to dip into his navel.

Dean's hand snaked back between them, curling his fingers around Sam's hot, steely shaft again, turning his wrist to twist up and down the length slowly. "Take your shirt off, Sammy, " he murmured in between biting kisses to the sharp jut of Sam's hip bone.

Sam complied immediately, crossing his arms across his middle to lift the tank top off from the bottom, wriggling and huffing impatiently when it caught between his shoulder blades and the floor. Dean chuckled and sat forward, helping to get it up over Sam's head with one hand while the other continued to stroke his cock.

Sam's thighs trembled under those slow, teasing pumps of Dean's fist, and he let out an unsteady moan, his hips humping up off the floor. Dean could feel from the way Sam's dick spasmed in his hand how painfully close he was, but he was far from letting Sam have his release -- he wanted to draw this out as long as possible. He gave one last twist then lifted his hand from Sam's straining member.

Sam wrenched his head up, his face open and desperate. "God, Dean, please don't stop," he begged "I'm so fuckin close." His hands moved down to give himself the relief Dean denied him, but Dean brushed them away.

"Not yet, baby boy," Dean crooned, pulling back to tug his own clothes off, his heart pounding hard enough to make him lightheaded. "I wanna hear you beg for it."

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading, his chest and dick flushed an angry red. "I am, Dean," Sam panted, "I'm begging you right now. _Please_ let me come."

Dean swallowed against the rush of saliva that suddenly filled his mouth from the desperation in Sam's voice, but shook his head. "I'm gonna make it so good for you, Sammy," he said, bringing a hand up to cup Sam's cheek.

Sam turned his face into the touch, looking up at Dean with those incredible eyes and Dean's heart skipped a beat. "You trust me, right?" Dean asked him, reaching his thumb down to caress Sam's soft pout from where his palm still rested against his cheek.

Sam blinked up at him, a haze of arousal settling in his eyes from the glide of Dean's thumb. He was quiet for a moment, seemingly considering Dean's question and Dean felt an agonizing regret burn in his chest for even asking it. But soon Sam nodded with a smile, soothing away Dean's guilt instantly.

"Of course, Dean," Sam answered.

Dean grinned and slipped his thumb between the seam of Sam's lips, feeling an electric and white hot bolt of desire shoot straight down to his cock when Sam sucked it all the way in, laving his tongue all around the thick digit with a muffled moan.

"Well that's good to hear," Dean rasped, slipping his free hand down to his own aching cock, smearing the gathering precome all around the head and down the sides as Sam continued to suckle his finger. "Cause I'm gonna take you so high, baby boy. I'm gonna make it feel so fucking good. You just hold it off as long as you can, okay?"

He slowly drew his thumb away and began moving his body back down between Sam's spread thighs when he caught sight of the bowl of dipping oil he had prepared earlier sitting on the edge of the counter.

He reached a hand up, stretching to slip two fingers into the fragrant liquid with the intention of making Sam his meal since he had so effectively distracted him from his real dinner. Hunger pooled hot and insistent in his gut and he brought his wet fingers down, trailing them around Sam's right nipple then lower over his trembling stomach, dragging them all the way down Sam's dick and swirling the oil around the swollen and leaky cockhead.

Sam whimpered beneath him, his whole body vibrating like a tightened bow string about to snap as Dean began licking up the oil he had just laid down, starting with Sam's cock and moving back up, not lingering in any one place for too long, until he stopped to suckle at Sam's nipple, savoring the delectable taste of basil and rosemary and Sam's sweat, driving himself as crazy with desire as he was Sam.

He reached his hand up to the bowl again for more oil, but blindly this time, as he slotted his lips against Sam's, working his mouth with gentle strokes of his tongue. Sam whined out a moan right down Dean's throat and wrapped his strong arms around Dean's back, eager and searching fingers dipping in between his ass cheeks with no warning. Dean jerked closer to Sam's touch, inadvertently tugging the plastic bowl of oil right off the countertop.

The whole thing, oil and all, splashed down on top of them, instantly coating Dean's shoulder and all of Sam's heaving chest with the slippery fragrant fluid. The bowl bounced harmlessly down by Dean's hand and rolled across the tile, leaving a slick and oily trail as it went. Neither man hardly even noticed and Dean made the most of the mess they suddenly found themselves in.

He spread his knees between Sam's legs, forcing Sam's thighs to open even more, and smudged his hands through the oil coating Sam's chest, massaging it into his skin past his navel and letting it drip between his legs. He dipped down for a taste after every other pass, making sure to deliberately rub his stomach against Sam's cock with the movements.

“Good god, you’re so beautiful, Sam.” Dean watched his own hands caress each patch of muscle, the pale skin glowing with flavorful slick and he couldn't help but sigh. Did Sam know yet how beautiful he really was? Dean pushed Sam’s knees back and apart, letting his oily fingers caress Sam’s low hung balls and then trail over the furled skin further down between his cheeks.

“Tell me how beautiful you are, Sammy,” Dean asked of him, fingers of one hand teasing Sam’s hole as the other teased the tip if his own hard cock.

When answered with a huff and a self-depreciating half smile, Dean asked again more forcefully as he pushed one finger in to the first knuckle. “Answer me.”

Grunting at the intrusion and the burning pleasure of it, Sam opened his mouth and let the first thing that popped into his head fall from his lips, “I… I’m beautiful… because y-you think I am,” he stuttered along with Dean’s teasing in and out motions, that thick, blunt finger never pushing more than half way in.

“That’s cheating, Sam,” Dean laughed, moving his free hand to Sam’s dick, sliding up and twisting once with a palm slick with oil before moving away. “Come on, Sammy, you’re beautiful. Touch yourself and see.”

Sam’s hands instantly fell to his dick seeking relief but were batted away with another laugh. “Too easy, tiger. Try again,” came Dean's soft but firm rebuke.

Dean dipped his head down, running his tongue over oily skin to savor the spice and Sam again, watching from under his lashes as Sam’s arms crossed over his chest. His hands started at his muscled shoulders, massaging the oil in himself before moving slowly down over hard nipples to pinch and pull, arching his back with a gasp.

"Tell me,” Dean demanded.

“I’m strong,” Sam started after a beat, his hands growing more confident as he spoke. “I work hard to be strong. I’m smooth and hard a-and tight.” His voice pitched up at the end as Dean finally pushed his one finger in to the last knuckle, grunting at Sam’s choice of words.

Dean then made short work of finding that pulsing bundle of nerves, pressing against it mercilessly before replacing his finger with his cock, further prep be damned. His dick ached far too much to be denied the tight heat of Sam's hole any longer.

Sam cried out, his hands flying up to grip at Dean's slippery shoulders, the tendons at his neck standing out starkly when Dean entered him so unexpectedly. He stared up at Dean, wide-eyed and devastatingly desperate, his hair damp with sweat and oil.

“Beg, Sam,” Dean commanded through gritted teeth, taking a long, slow stroke, fighting for every inch as he pushed in that tight ring of muscle, his knees slipping back on the tile as he shoved forward. He pressed against Sam’s prostate hard before demanding, “Ask again.”

And Sam did.

The keening, desperate sound ricocheted through Dean’s head, down his belly and landed with a heavy thud against his balls. Now _his_ body screamed for release, demanded that he pick up the pace and slam in hard but he held back. The squirming figure beneath him was too perfect a vision to rush.

But suddenly Sam sat up and pushed Dean back and away, turning over onto all fours. He lowered his chest to floor and pressed the top of his head against the cabinet for leverage. Presenting himself for the taking, Sam's hole was throbbing and shiny and heartbreakingly gorgeous and right in Dean's view.

“Goddamit, Dean! Please!” Sam’s voice was gravelly and shaky, a husky whine that hadn’t filled it before making the plea a mournful command of its own. “I can't take it anymore! _Please_ , let me come.”

Dean stared dumbly for a moment, lost in the sight of Sam’s gaping hole, slick with oil and Dean’s own precum, begging him to partake. Sam was indescribably transcendent.

“DEAN!”

Dean snapped into motion. Standing, he braced his forehead on the countertop and straddled Sam’s hips before bending his knees in a squat to bring his dick flush against Sam's ass. He watched in stunned fascination as he sank his cock straight down and into Sam’s waiting hole, the move garnering groans from both men. Dean knew he wouldn’t last long. He snaked one hand down to strangle the base of Sam’s dick to hold him off just a little longer before moving his knees and hips, chasing pleasure.

Almost instantly the kitchen was filled with the sound of slapping skin, grunts and curses as Dean rode Sam hard. Sam’s litany of begging and whining only increased as Dean’s thrusts moved from fast to hard to brutal.

“I love to fuck you, Sam,” Dean whispered down to him. “So goddamn tight and needy, baby boy. I’m gonna fucking break you.”

Sam answered by punching the cabinet door and swearing back.

“So strong, Sam, but you let me have you. Fuck but it’s beautiful. I can’t wait to come inside you and watch it all drip right out of you.” Dean felt his balls tighten then and finally released Sam’s dick, his hand instantly replaced with Sam’s, jerking and stroking with a wild abandon. Sam's asshole clenched and squeezed around Dean's cock in a stranglehold with each pump of his first.

And then it was Dean’s turn to beg.

“Come with me, Sammy, please. God, fuck… please come.. SAM!”

Sam utterly fell apart under those words. He screamed out Dean's name in a broken and desperate cry of relief, coming so hard he saw stars. Cum erupted from the end of his cock in powerful spurts, splattering the tile floor beneath him and even the underside of his jaw. He somehow managed to remain propped up on his knees, even as his whole body shook and threatened to give out from under him, needing to give Dean the release he was still attempting to pound out of Sam's ass.

Sam reached up between his spread thighs, wrapping a hand around Dean's balls where they slapped heavy against his own, giving them a gentle but firm tug down. It was all Dean needed.

Sam felt Dean slam down with a rough finality, the force of it driving Sam's knees against the tile hard enough that he knew he'd have bruises come tomorrow. His spent and soften dick gave another weak spurt of cum when Dean roared out a growl as he came, the sound of it reverberating through the entire kitchen and echoing deep into Sam's chest.

A heated liquid rush suddenly warmed Sam from the inside out as Dean spilled into him and it was then that his legs finally gave out, dumping both men down onto the floor in a slippery tangle of limbs. They lay there panting for a moment, Dean grabbing up Sam and holding him to his heaving chest, combing oily fingers through his already wrecked hair.

"Well damn, baby boy," Dean said, his voice scratched and raw, "I'd say that's the best fucking meal I've ever had."

"Damn but I needed that," Sam chuckled breathlessly, nuzzling closer to Dean's sweaty chest. The scent of burning garlic suddenly hit his nose from the pan still warming on the stovetop and he glanced up at Dean with one eyebrow arched. "Is it salvageable?" he asked about their actual dinner.

Dean shook his head with a laugh, stretching an arm out to turn the burner dial to the off position before settling back down on the floor to squeeze Sam close again. "Next time we'll start with something really easy like Hamburger Helper. But I think tonight we're ordering in. Whatever you want Sammy, I'm buying, 'cause hell it's the least I can do after _that_ performance."

He ruffled Sam's hair and Sam smiled, stroking his oil stained cheek against Dean's chest, smearing more of the fragrant and mouthwatering mess into his tanned and freckled skin. "Alright," Sam agreed, "but who's gonna go get the phone?" Both of their mobiles were in the living room, the equivalent of a hundred fucking miles away to Sam's overworked and exhausted body.

Dean groaned out a sigh that Sam could feel rumble across his cheek. “Rock, paper, scissors?" he asked.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware, dear readers, this chapter contains mention of an attempted rape. It is a part of the plot and is contained in a dream sequence, but in no way do we condone such actions in any way. Proceed with caution.

The thing about nightmares is, when you're in the middle of one, no matter how irrational or completely unreasonable it is, it always _feels_ absolutely, irrefutably fucking real.

In the small pre-dawn hours the morning after his impromptu "dinner" with Sam on the kitchen floor, Dean was in the clutches of one such nightmare. It wasn't the first night he'd had a nightmare in those few days following his fight with Vincent at the F Bar, but it was the first night he'd had one with Sam beside him in bed. But Sam could have been a thousand damn miles away for all Dean knew.

He was back in the restroom at the club, being forcibly shoved into that stall again. The alarm and helplessness and nausea he had initially felt in that moment four days ago was ratcheted even higher now, magnified by the staggering lucidity of the dream. Vincent was pressing against him, the oppressive odor of alcohol wafting off of him in sour waves, twisting Dean's stomach. But whereas last time Dean had been able to fight Vincent off, now it felt like his strength was bleeding right out of him and he couldn't even jerk his head to the side when Vincent grasped his jaw and worked his tongue deep into Dean's mouth.

He gagged and tried to struggle back, the sensation of choking overwhelming him before he was suddenly sinking, tumbling down into a cold enveloping darkness that seemed to never end. And then he abruptly found himself lying on the chilled and grimy floor of the holding cell back in Lansing Correctional. He stumbled to his feet, backing into a corner he couldn’t reach in the cell that was now expanding, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. That was when he saw them: a group of correctional officers advancing on him, their bodies moving in slow motion but rushing at him as if caught in a freefall. They were being led by none other than Vincent himself, a menacing grin pulling his lips back into a sneer.

A rageful fear suffused through Dean's whole body in a numbing rush and he hardly had a chance to let out a shout for help before the guards were descending on him. They grabbed him up and tried to force him across the cell to a metal bed frame with a thin, dirty mattress lying across the rusty springs, ignoring his soundless screams for them to stop.

A cold sweat broke out across Dean's skin and he struggled as hard as he could against the strong hands grasping at his arms and legs and torso, thrashing wildly in his panic. He was able to bring his fists up and lay down a few hits, fighting back enough to finally pull away, the sensation of their touch sticky like a black mold on his skin. He made a mad run for the open cell door, his only avenue of escape forever ahead even as he pushed his legs faster and harder than he had ever before.

And suddenly Sam was there, standing in the hallway that led to the cell, indifferently observing Dean’s struggle for freedom. He was wearing a perfectly tailored grey business suit, the kind Dean knew he wore to his court cases, and his hands were in his pockets. Disinterest fell over his face as he watched Dean run toward him, the cell door always out of reach, and Dean felt his heart begin to fracture apart painfully.

"SAM!" he screamed, stretching his hands out as he finally neared the threshold of the door, tears blurring his vision. The bars, leaning towards him in a teasing bid to aid his freedom, shone a bright gold for a moment before burning themselves black.

And then he was yanked back, the force almost pulling him off of his feet. He let out a terrified shout as the guards swarmed him again and this time Dean had no hope of fighting them off - they were too strong and too many. He cried out for Sam again then watched with a devastated horror as Sam shook his head, his lips twisted in utter disgust, his eyes flashing in anger before he turned and walked away. Sam didn’t look back.

Pain lanced through Dean's chest in heartbreaking agony and he doubled forward, dangerously close to vomiting, his body spasming in violent but useless heaves. The guards continued to drag him backward, with Vincent appearing right at his side. They stopped moving and Vincent’s breath washed against Dean's neck in excited pants.

"I told you you need a _real_ man, Smith," he growled. "So we're all gonna take turns to show you exactly what that fuckin means."

Dean sobbed out the word "no" on the verge of utter defeat, but Vincent only laughed, motioning to the other guards to maneuver him. Dean was pushed to the bed and was held down. He was being bent over onto the mattress before he realized it was happening. Dozens of strong hands roamed his body, protests dying in his throat and refusing to surface. His wrists cuffed behind his back and his cheek smashed roughly against the bed, his pants were shoved down, ice cold air caressing his naked backside in nauseating licks.

And then he felt it; the fat head of Vincent’s cock was suddenly pressed against Dean's dry hole.  He thrashed frantically against the thousands of hands holding him down, his voice cracking and his throat dry. He wanted to fight, to cry out again for Sam, to _try_ , but nothing brought him freedom.

Vincent chuckled darkly, curling over Dean's back and bringing his mouth right down to his ear, breathing moist and rank air across his skin. "You better brace yourself, Dean-o, cause this is gonna hurt."

With one last pull of oxygen, Dean let out a mind numbing scream, driving it out on a burning lungful of air. And then Vincent thrust deep into his ass.

Echoing down into the depths of his dreamless sleep, Dean's terrified screams ripped Sam awake before he was even aware of what was happening. A heavy dose of adrenaline raced straight through his veins and he shot up, looking frantically around the darkened bedroom for the cause of those heart-rending cries of “SAM!”

His eyes fell to Dean beside him, watching stunned as Dean writhed around, tangling himself in the sheets with his desperate movements.

"Sam, wait!" Dean shouted again, his eyes squeezed closed. He curled in on himself, a wounded whimper sifting from his lips. "Oh god, Walsh, please, stop!"

Sam's heart constricted painfully when that bastard's name hit his ears in Dean's shaking voice and he was not able to see Dean in such agony any longer. He grasped Dean by the shoulders, shaking him gently. "Dean, wake up! You're having a bad dream!"

When he didn’t wake, Sam moved to his knees and pulled the sheet back to free Dean from its hold, waving it for a moment to let the cool air wash over him. Then he ran his hands over his arms and shoulders, leaning in close calling to him again, making his voice and words soothing but forceful.

Sam almost jerked back when Dean's eyes suddenly flew open, his wild gaze not focusing on anything. When Dean brought a fist up, taking a blind swing at Sam's face, he did jerked back, just quickly enough that the punch just only grazed his chin. Another came right after that and Sam grabbed Dean's wrist before the fist could connect solidly with his jaw.

"Dammit, Dean!" he shouted, "It's me!"

When his fists wouldn’t land, Dean opted for pushing and his shaking hands shoved hard against every surface they touched as his feet worked to inch him away toward the headboard. Sam tossed up his own hands and let Dean move away to perceived safety before calling to him again.

“Dean, wake up!”

When recognition finally surfaced in Dean’s eyes it was quickly followed by relief before the shutters of self preservation slammed to shut Sam out. They sat in bloated silence for a moment, listening to Dean’s breathing even back out as he stayed crowded up by the headboard.

Sam moved toward him after a moment. "Dean, are you okay?" he asked, reaching a hand out to comfort him.

Dean flinched back before he could stop himself and Sam's hand fell into his lap limply, hurt drawing his eyebrows together. "What just happened here?"

Dean pulled in a shaky breath through flared nostrils, forcing his body to relax. If he had been thrashing around hard enough to wake Sam, did that mean he might have been talking in his sleep too? And if that were the case, how much had Sam heard?

Dean drug his eyes away from the concerned look on Sam's face, focusing his gaze instead on a thread unraveling on a pillow beside him. He didn't need to bog Sam down with any worry for him and he _certainly_ didn't need to give Sam any more reason to go digging through his past -- he'd just had way too vivid a taste of what it would feel like to watch Sam walk away from him and there was no way in fucking hell he wanted to feel that hollow aching loss _ever_ again.

"Bad dream, I guess," he finally replied with a shrug, schooling all the residual terror and fear from his features.

"You guess?" Sam scoffed gently. "Dean, you were taking swings at me before you were even awake." He fell silent and Dean looked over at him, seeing unease and worry settle into the lines on Sam's face. "Were you dreaming about that Walsh guy?" he asked.

Dean's heart, which had almost slowed to its normal rate, began thudding heavily against his rib cage again. He brought up a hand to scrub roughly across the back of his neck in a move he hoped looked casual. "I don't know, Sammy. I can't remember," he huffed.  

Sam's eyes searched his face, a flare of anger heating the hazel depths, and for a split second Dean thought Sam might have seen through his lie. But the indignation quickly melted into a soft understanding.

"Dean, if he's still affecting you like this, even subconsciously, even if you don't _remember_ it affecting you, then we might want to talk about pressing charges."

Sam's voice was gentle but the words still brought back the feelings of helplessness and fury and fear that had nearly overwhelmed Dean in his dream and he instinctively lashed out.

"What is up with you always wanting to talk about stuff, Sam? Jesus Christ, I already told you to fuckin drop it!" He huffed out an exasperated sigh, raking a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "I don't wanna talk anymore about that asshole. I don't want to _think_ about him, I don't want to _hear_ about him, okay? All I want is _you_ , Sammy. That's it. That's all."

The threat of tears spiked hot against the back of Dean's eyes and he suddenly rushed back across the bed. His need for Sam’s reassuring touches were almost outweighed by Sam’s need to protect Dean from himself.  

He flung himself into Sam's arms, bowling him back onto the mattress, not strong enough in that moment to bite back the ragged growl that filtered out from his throat when Sam caught him and held him in close. He began raining frantic and passionate kisses all across Sam's still concerned face, desperately needing the distraction from the dream that was still so fresh in his mind. But he suddenly felt himself being pushed back by Sam's strong hands on his shoulders.

“No, Dean,” Sam protested, his hair falling away from his face, “you can’t kiss this one away. What is going on?”

Sam searched Dean’s face, his eyes pleading for entrance into this secret part of Dean’s life. He wanted in, to know every intimate detail about man in his arms and be a part of what made him whole. Not for the first time did the fleeting thought to their rushed relationship roll through, but Sam didn’t just _want_ to be close to Dean, he _needed_ it. And then the unthinkable crossed his mind.

“Oh my god, Dean, have you been assaulted before?”

Dean’s brow creased in confusion for a moment before Sam’s meaning sunk in and he sighed. The easy answer was no, Dean had not been successfully assaulted before. Of course he’d been jumped twice in prison, inflicting enough damage to his attackers the first go round that he was left alone after. He gave Walsh his scarred lip the second time. Those two events had frightened him, down to his core, but he’d walked away victor and added the experiences to the long list of near misses he’d had with disaster.

“I’ve been jumped before, Sam,” Dean finally confessed. He didn’t move off of him, but he shifted his weight more to one side and continued. “I was alone in the showers at the gym,” (truth, the prison gym but a gym none the less) “when two guys walked in and crowded my space. They grabbed me and tried to… to… hurt me.” He paused to take a deep breath and weigh his words before continuing. He was sharing a truth that he’d even kept from Benny but it felt right to tell Sam, even if it wasn’t the whole expansive picture.

“One guy grabbed me into a full nelson and the other went to gut punch me. They weren’t expecting so much of a fight but I broke one guy’s nose and jaw with a kick and flipped the other guy over my shoulders to get free. I broke that guy's ribs before the g -- uh,security came in. It was all caught on video so it was open and shut.”

Dean felt a lightness settle on his heart as all of that truth spilled forth. He’d actually gotten a demerit for participating in the fight but no additional charges were filed as it was self-defense. The attackers got a few years each and everyone stayed away from the lethal pretty boy after that. He’d been proud and terrified in the moments after the guards swarmed the showers.

“Sam, don’t ask me about it again. Please,” Dean’s eyes brimmed with wet regret. Regret for hiding the full truth. Regret for the violence that followed him through life. Regret for mistakes that he could never erase, because damn did he know how paying the price didn’t ever really wipe away that kind of debt.

When Sam’s lips met Dean’s, there was a tenderness that surprised both of them. Sam willed aways Dean’s sorrow and fear with the slide of his tongue against his lush pout. The usual rise of possessive anger stalled out in favor of gentle reverence as Sam’s hands cradled Dean’s face, his fingers drawing him closer.

Dean was as brave as he was beautiful and Sam wanted him to know it, to feel it in every touch tonight. He sat up slowly, never breaking the contact of their lips, his thumbs gliding warm and reassuring along the stubbled edge of Dean's jaw line, and laid him back on the bed gently. The moan that escaped Sam wasn’t his usual lust filled call but a sound as soothing as gentle rain.

When they surfaced for air, Dean searched Sam’s face for the inevitable pity at his story. Or worse, he thought he would find contempt and disdain at how the pretty features he’d used to tempt lover after lover could be turned against him so easily. Instead, he found those large puppy dog eyes filled with gratitude and understanding, his brow creased with an emotion that Dean couldn’t really read but hoped it was as warm and tender as the emotion he felt wash through him then.

In the nights they’d already shared, Sam and Dean had, without fear, explored pleasures from feral and rough to giddy and wild. They had tasted sweetness and longing in ways that neither had savored before. But, as their bodies crashed and molded into one creature, breathless and wanting and desiring as never before, they tipped over the edge of ecstasy holding hands, as if each was afraid of losing the other in the passing of everyday.

And when they were sated and sleepy, Dean let himself be the little spoon, his pride, for once, not bristling at the security Sam offered him. He could get used to this, he thought, as he drifted, sleep making his tongue thick and careless.

“Don’t leave me, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, his words slurred with half-sleep.

“I won’t, Dean,” Sam promised, pressing his lips against Dean’s hair and then inhaling his dark scent. For all his macho bluster and posturing, Sam knew - he _knew_ \- that Dean needed protection, comfort and security. Dean had seen that need in Sam and was working to give him those things. It was only right that Sam give those things back to Dean.

So when Sam decided not to ask Dean again about Walsh, it wasn’t because he was going to let the subject drop. It wasn’t because Dean wanted to ignore it or move on with his life despite it. It was because he was going to find him. He would find him, charge him and prosecute him to the full extent of the law. Putting him away would leave one less monster in the world to prey on his Dean. _His_ Dean. His _Love_.


	16. Chapter 16

Exuberant. That was the kindest word Sam could think of to describe his secretary. Becky Rosen was very _enthusiastic_ about her job as his gatekeeper, paralegal and handler. She had this wonderful mousey quality with her short stature and insecure smile that was a complete facade and he liked to exploit it as often as possible. Nothing gave him more joy at work than to sic her on an unsuspecting hostile defense office that was giving him a hard time with evidence or access to the defendant. She was his personal pitbull and he relied on her take-no-prisoners dedication to him as a secret weapon. He was pretty sure she had a crush but whatever.

It was the go-get-em attitude that he was looking forward to when he got in Thursday morning, the memory of Dean’s fear fresh in his mind. There were no other depositions or court hearings the rest of the week so she was free to track down that asshole Walsh. Sam was all but drooling at the thought of having him arraigned on something - _anything._

But when he rounded the corner to his office, her desk had been empty and he had almost cried that she’d called in sick. Not really, but he was just so damn frustrated. He should have known it was coming; she’d been blowing her nose and actually skipped makeup on Wednesday, she’d felt so terrible.

Now, stepping out of the elevator on Friday, laptop bag and sugar-free fat-free latte in tow, Sam prayed that his lunatic Becky would be sitting at her desk, typing away at her computer and just waiting for the reminder to start digging up dirt on Walsh.

“Becky!” Sam called out, relief making him almost skip to her desk. As per the usual, her face lit up with an overly wide smile that immediately pulled itself back into shyness. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, patted her outfit and forced a professional expression as he neared.

“Good morning, Sam,” she started but tumbled into stuttering instantly, “I m-mean M-Mr. Wes-s-son.” She’d been his secretary for almost a year and she still got nervous when she spoke to him. Yeah, Sam was sure she had a crush.

He shook his head at the poor oblivious girl and reminded her of his now urgent task. “I’m glad you’re feeling better and I know you’re catching up from taking off but I need that info on Walsh stat.”

Sam should have felt guilty but Dean wasn’t the only one to play up his looks to get what he wanted. He bent his knees to lower his height so he didn’t tower over her, leaning forward a bit and creased his brows just so. “Can you do that for me?”

Becky’s eyes grew wide for a moment before she took a deep breath and nodded resolutely at him. “I am all over it, Mr. Wesson. I’ll have a file put together before the end of the day and you can review it over the weekend and …”

He let her continue on about the judge that was available over the weekend to sign any warrants and that detective so-and-so would be happy to pick up whoever this guy was, nodding with concerned acceptance of her help. She had a quest from him and would stop at nothing to get it done.

“Perfect,” he interrupted with a tired and wan smile, quickly heading past her desk to his office, his smile fading into a grim line as soon as he closed the door behind himself. He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand roughly down his cheek before setting his bag down on his desktop.

He hadn’t slept well the last couple days. Wednesday night he hadn’t been able to drift back to sleep after Dean's nightmare, even after the soul-shattering love they had made, even after Dean had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards. Sam had stayed awake to soothe him through the restlessness and haunting dreams that plagued him until dawn finally filtered in through the window beside the bed. And last night, Thursday night, when Sam had slept alone in his own bed, not because he wanted to be separated from Dean but because of an early morning meeting that required him to be at work at the ungodly hour he found himself in now. He hadn’t slept then either, due largely to his worry over Dean and also his impatient eagerness to get more information on Walsh.

Sam glanced down at his watch and groaned, not looking forward to the staff meeting he was to be attending in less than ten minutes. He wanted Becky to buzz into his office and tell him she’d already pulled up the files. He wanted sit there beside her and help her find every last piece of evidence he’d need to put that slimy bastard away for the maximum amount of time. Hell, he’d be doing the research himself right fucking now if he could, but a deputy D.A. had a certain number of responsibilities that could not really be pushed to the side no matter how much Sam wished he could.

He downed the last of his coffee, crushing the cup in one fist and throwing it into the trash can a little harder than he’d first intended to in his weary frustration, nearly knocking the bin over onto its side. Clearing his throat and straightening his tie, Sam made his way back out of his office without having even had a chance to sit down at his desk before he was diving into one staff meeting followed by two more rounds of intern interviews and case reviews with junior lawyers.

It was nearing one o’clock in the afternoon by the time Sam was finally able to trudge his way back to his office, mind numb, eyes tired, and still with the burning flare of overwrought nerves sparking deep and unsettled in his chest. He needed to know Dean was safe, now more than ever, and the only way he could truly feel that way was if Walsh was off the streets.

Sam glanced over at Becky’s desk as he passed it on his way to his office. Her chair was empty and her computer screen was dark, every evidence that she was out to lunch, but Sam felt an insane and completely irrational desire to go find her in the breakroom and tug her back to the work that Sam so desperately needed her to do. Did she not understand how important it was to him? _Of course she doesn’t_ , Sam reminded himself, carding a hand through his hair and slamming his office door shut, _Because if I give her the specifics of why I need the information so badly, it would signify a gross conflict of interest and the whole thing would be given over to someone else._

Sam sunk down into his office chair, propping his elbows up on his cluttered desktop and burying his face in his hands, trying to breathe in calming breaths. It had been a hell of a week, but he couldn’t deny the little slice of heaven he’d been given in those moments he’d been able to spend with Dean. Everything seemed to shine a little brighter when Dean smiled at him, when he heard Dean’s laugh, when he felt the plush press of those lips anywhere on his skin. Sam knew he was falling fast and hard, but he also knew he didn’t care. Dean thought he was amazing and he made Sam believe that about himself too. It was as if the rational side of his brain was finally aligning with the slightly compulsive side, forming one coherent and irrefutable understanding: he was in love.

“I’m in love with him,” Sam whispered into his hands where his face was still pressed into his palms. Saying it out loud was one of the most gratifying things Sam had ever felt and a grin curved broadly at his mouth. “I’m in love with Dean,” he said again, a little louder. His heart felt light enough to fly right out of his chest.

He suddenly gained his feet, pushing his chair back to roll across the carpet on its tiny casters and bringing one fist down to the desktop, right about to shout the words out to the emptiness of his office when Becky’s voice over his speaker phone suddenly interrupted him.

“Sa -- uh, Mr. Wesson? You have a visitor to see you?” followed by a muffled “You can’t just go in there!” before the line went dead.

Sam rushed to his door but stopped and grinned when he swung it open. Dean was doing his best to sidestep Becky, looking positively edible in a slate cotton tee shirt that was damp with sweat at the pits and a wide stripe darkening down his chest where the window washing logo was emblazoned. A pair of worn and frayed jeans hugged his hips just right and he held a white box tied with string in one hand and a cold bottle of water in the other.

“I said it was a surprise, Short Stuff, now move it or lose it,” Dean barked at her.

Pride swelled in Sam for a second as Becky, almost a foot shorter than Dean, stepped into his space and pressed a finger into Dean’s chest. For all her nervous insecurity, when it came to Sam, she was a holy terror.

“And I said no one sees Mr. Wesson without an appointment.”

The commotion was starting to draw attention as heads peeked up and over cubicle walls. Sam felt a laugh catch in his throat when Dean’s face turned red in frustration and he opened his mouth to speak, no doubt foul language on the tip of his tongue. Sam jumped in before the comedy show turned into a full on brawl.

“It’s okay, Becky,” Sam called from the doorway, stifling a chuckle at Dean’s helpless and frustrated expression.

The relieved smile that lit up Dean’s face when his eyes finally fell on Sam took his breath away and his world shrank to just the two of them for one indescribably intense moment. Sam could honestly say he had never been in love, had never found someone that made his heart beat faster and then stop it dead in his chest and then drag it into faint little pitter-patters all within the span of five goddamn seconds. Dean had pulled him from the shadowed pit of insecurity more times than Sam could really count and accepted Sam for who he was without once asking him to change. It was what he had always needed and had searched his entire life to find without knowing it. Until now.

Coming back to reality, Sam shook his head and then ushered Dean into his office, the words ‘lunch’ and ‘no interruptions’ tossed over his shoulder at Becky, locking the door behind him.

“Here I am trying to surprise you with lunch and that psycho pixie stick won’t have it,” Dean dropped the box on Sam’s desk and started to empty the contents as he continued. “But the view on the way over here was awesome. When did pencil skirts come back? Dude, you are so lucky I saw you first because the blonde hottie by the elevator might have given you a run for your money if she - “

Dean was interrupted but a hard smack to his ass and an arched brow from Sam. He turned slowly, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Sammy, I love when you get all possessive.”

Sam growled deep in his throat for a moment before letting himself be pulled in for a kiss, Dean’s teasing laugh melting into a low moan when Sam’s tongue slid into his mouth.

“Miss me?” Dean asked on an exhale, leaning further back to look at Sam’s face, staggered by the pale hue of his eyes in the afternoon sun that poured in from the large window. Dean loved that window. With his too long hair and early afternoon stubble, Sam looked like a beautiful lion-man lazily watching his prey. He seemed to ooze a confidence that Dean hadn’t seen on him before. Sam on his home turf was the sexiest thing he’d seen yet.

"More than you know," Sam answered, walking Dean back the half a step to the desk behind him. He splayed his hands down on the desktop on either side of Dean's narrow hips and leaned in close, dragging the tip of his nose up the side of Dean's neck, pulling in a deep scent of Dean's sweat slick skin. "And I plan on making up for lost time."

Dean shivered in the cage of Sam's arms, bringing his hands up and tangling them in Sam's hair. "But what about lunch?" Dean teased with a pouty whine, tugging Sam's head down to the exposed hollow at the base of his throat just above his shirt collar.

Sam picked up on the wordless direction instantly, mouthing a wet kiss to that briny and tantalizing dip of flesh before swirling his tongue flat against it. Dean jerked and let out a breathy moan, feeling sluicing jets of arousal crash low and hot in his belly. His cock, already on its way to full hardness, thickened considerably and he moaned again.

Sam's fingers were suddenly pressing against Dean's lips. "Shhh!" Sam warned, "You gotta keep it down, okay?"

Dean grinned against the ridges and whorls of Sam's fingerprints, his hands still tangled in Sam's hair. "Or you'll what?" he challenged.

Sam pulled back, a feral smile bending his mouth. "Or I will gag you with my tie," he replied matter of factly.

A tremor wracked through Dean in a full body shake at Sam's words and he seriously considered letting out the loudest porn-star moan he could manage just so he really would be gagged. But time was of the essence at the moment; he was on lunch and if Benny found out he'd set the day's schedule back for a fuckin nooner, the burly Cajun would be none too happy. Regrettably deciding to put the bondage away for another day, Dean brought his hand up to his mouth, making the lock and key motion across his lips.

"There's a good boy," Sam said, a husky growl roughening the timbre of his voice. He watched Dean blush with satisfaction and filed the pet name away for future use.

Sam quickly knelt down before Dean, undoing his belt and and the button on his jeans before his knees had even hit the ground, positively overcome with the need to feel Dean's dick in his mouth, feel the weight of it on his tongue, feel its bulk stretching down his throat. They had only spent one night apart, but Sam had been lusting after Dean's taste all damn day. He glanced up, dragging his tongue across his lips, and watched as Dean's eyes darkened considerably, his mouth hanging open on a pant, so obviously trying to keep quiet that Sam couldn't help but smile.

He drug his gaze back down to his task at hand, pulling down Dean's fly, saliva flooding his mouth in anticipation. But instead of the simple black cotton of Dean's customary boxer briefs greeting him, there was a flash of bright pink lace staring Sam right in the face as he continued to pull the zipper on Dean's jeans down their track. His eyes zeroed in on this startling and incredibly sexy new piece of information and he felt his heart give one heavy kick deep in his chest, the intense jolting pulse sending throbs of aching pleasure straight to his cock.

He looked up slowly in disbelief, stunned into silence. Dean gazed down at him there on his knees, a devastatingly arousing smile curving his mouth, and he shot Sam a wink that nearly had him coming then and there. Hastily looking back down, Sam fumbled his suddenly trembling fingers into the waistband of Dean's jeans, tugging them down to his thighs.

The sight he was treated to then was absolutely, positively breathtaking; Dean's bulging arousal was put on display gloriously, hugged in the snug embrace of delicate and nearly transparent pink lace in an endlessly flattering bikini style cut. His dick, thick and engorged, was being held stiffly to the right by the confines of the sheer fabric and his balls, drawing up close to his body and away from the conditioned air, threatened to spill from the narrowing fabric.

Sam ran a large hand along the flat of Dean’s belly, entranced by the stark contrast between his tanned abdomen and the dainty shade of pink, and watched Dean’s muscles constrict in anticipation of his next touch. Indecision tickled his mind, not for lack of ideas but instead for the damn time crunch he knew they were in. Images warred in his head for a moment - Dean spread open and waiting, pink lace wrapped around one thigh, Dean writhing beneath him with his foot on Sam’s shoulder and pink lace caught on his toes, Dean tied to the headboard with his head thrown back in a cry of pleasure muted by pink lace stuffed in his mouth. Oh yes, Sam definitely loved pink lace.

He buried his face against the soft fabric, his tongue rolling against the heated flesh just underneath as he made his choice, with a crystal clear image that sent a burning pulse straight to his cock. Sam let the fingers of his other hand drift from the top of Dean’s thigh to the inside and back, tracing the seam of the fabric before pushing it over. He explored slowly at first, his lips suckling the head Dean’s dick through the now soaked lace, his fingers inching back, his wrist turning to force Dean’s legs to open for him.

He felt hands fall to his hair when he brushed Dean’s entrance, and then he felt those hands fisting tightly into the strands when he slipped a finger full in and pressed against Dean's prostate. There was no hesitation or resistance and Dean was already wet, cheeky bastard. Sam felt his warm desire jump to a blazing furious need and he took a bite of the pale flesh on Dean’s hip, his free hand gripping that glorious pink material that was rubbing into his palm.

It was the throaty laugh that brought Sam to his feet, the smug arousal on Dean’s face that had him turning the man away from him and leaning him over the desk, first on his hands and then flat on his belly. But it was the open and lubed ass that had Sam unzipping and dropping his pants to the floor and thanking any god that would listen that his office door had a strong lock and no windows.

“You are a bad man, Dean Smith,” Sam groaned as he pulled the pink lace to the right and pressed his cock against Dean’s slick and gleaming hole.

“I told you so,” Dean chuckled and then moaned as Sam pushed in, slow and fluid without pause or preamble, until he was flush against Dean’s thighs, his thumb caressing the soft fabric with reverence.

He pushed Dean’s shirt up and away so he could watch himself move in and out with deliciously tedious strokes, drawing out the pleasure as long as he could. The vision before him - Dean clawing at the fine wood, the bright pink held in place by his thumb and his cock moving in and out at a leisurely pace - was even more beautiful than when it was just a fantasy in his head. This wouldn't take long but dammit he was going to try.

Dean pressed his forehead to the desk and arched his back, the change in angle making Sam grunt behind him. He felt a dollop of precum spurt forth at the sound and let out another moan, this one a bit louder than the first, and then hissed when Sam’s hand landed hard on his bare ass, certain there would be a red handprint left behind. He thought about moaning once more, louder still, Sam’s threat of gagging him flitting to the surface again and making him tip that much closer to the edge

“So beautiful,” Sam whispered behind him, running a hand up along his back and then down his ribs, sending up a rash of gooseflesh in its wake. “So fucking beautiful, Dean.”

“And all yours, baby boy,” Dean’s voice was breathy with desire and almost slurred.

Sam leaned forward and grabbed Dean’s hands together and behind, anchoring them to the small of this back with one hand and holding Dean’s hip and that beautiful material with the other all without breaking the pace of his strong thrusts. Each stroke rocked Dean’s body against the desk, the papers, pens and cardboard filing boxes surrounding him shifting with the force. Dean felt his erection straining against the soft fabric and let out a sigh of relief when it finally sprang free on its own, the hard flesh now straight and proud having outgrown the small confines of the pretty pink panties.

“All mine,” Sam's voice was deep and low behind him. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” The word became a mantra, repeated with each push and pull of Sam’s cock in and out of Dean's gaping and throbbing hole.

“Mine.” Sam tilted his head back and rocked faster, his hips dipping to swivel, determined to hit the mark and make Dean see stars over and over and over again.

“ _Mine_ ,” he growled, his thumb still stroking the fabric gently as the pinky of his other hand tickled the satiny waistband, the temptation to rip it gnawing at his fingertips. He was moving even faster now, chasing his release, so close his body was tensing and sweating with the effort. He gritted his teeth and willed back the orgasm tightening in his balls to be able to squeeze out a few more moments of the unbearable agony and indescribable pleasure that was Dean.

But suddenly Dean’s arm pulled free and he smashed his fist against the desktop, swearing as white hot seed spilled from his dick to splash the desk and floor, untouched and melting against the onslaught of Sam at his back. Sam slapped a hand over Dean's mouth to keep him quiet as he continued swearing through the release that pummeled through him mercilessly.

Dean's passage spasmed and clenched, an iron vise of molten lava strangling every drop of pleasure from Sam and forcing him to come as well, his own body shaking as ripples of his orgasm chased each other up his spine and down to his toes. He exploded into Dean with a low growl, pushing in so deep and hard with that one last plunge that he knocked a thick stack of papers off the desk, sending them fluttering to the floor in a shower of white that contrasted almost perfectly with the pearly smears of Dean’s come coating the desk.

With one more shallow thrust, Sam sank down bonelessly over Dean's back, both men panting harshly from exertion. He craned his neck up, pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean's sated smile then drew his lips back to mouth over the soft shell of his ear.

"Please tell me you have more of these," he said with a ragged whisper, trailing the tips of his fingers over the lacy waistband at Dean's hip.

Dean chuckled and Sam could feel the rumble of it roll against his ribcage. "A whole drawer-full just for you, baby boy.

Sam grinned, already imagining all the different styles of panties Dean would wear for him then groaned when he felt his softening cock give an excited spasm where it was still jammed up deep in Dean's ass. He pushed up from Dean slowly, glancing over at the desk clock up by Dean's head and seeing that they didn't have much time before Becky would buzz in to remind Sam of his next meeting.

He was about to push away from Dean, feeling an incredible swell of regret for the mess of cum he knew was going to be flooding those beautiful panties after he'd pulled out. He wanted to be able to wreck them when he had more time to do it properly. He curled forward, giving his hips a weak thrust up against Dean's ass and felt his heart skip a beat at Dean's responding whimper.

"Goddamn, Dean," he rasped, "You have no idea how much I wish I could just plug that fucking spunk all up in your asshole just so you could walk around the rest of the day with a piece of me inside you."

Dean let out a shuddering breath then fumbled one hand into his pocket. A crystal blue silicone anal plug was suddenly being shoved back at Sam and he could barely believe his eyes; Dean really _was_ a cheeky bastard. He grabbed up the plug, pointedly ignoring Dean’s smug chuckle, turning it in front of his face as if it were a figment of his lust fogged imagination. He wondered if there was an end to Dean's surprises and just as quickly hoped there wasn't, not if they were as indescribably sexy as this.

“If you ever call me a boy scout again, I’m shaving your head in your sleep,” Sam threatened with a grin.

Sam sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, pinning it between his teeth to stop the loud hiss that rushed up in his throat when he straightened up and back, pulling his limp cock from Dean's puffy and lax hole slowly. He quickly inserted the plug into Dean's ass before any of his come could escape. Dean rocked back against him, arching his back enticingly, and Sam couldn't help but give the plug a couple gentle presses after he had reverently straightened the panties back over Dean's ass.

His eyes roamed over Dean's pantyclad backside, enjoying the view just a little longer, until his gaze suddenly caught on the box that Dean had brought, partially unpacked and surrounded by an assortment of plastic utensils and napkins and two clear containers of salad.

"You really brought lunch?" he asked, tucking himself back into his pants and tucking in his shirt.

“What,” Dean snarked as he straightened, “you think I’m only in it for the good sex?”

“Great sex,” Sam corrected with a wink and helped Dean pull up his jeans with one last caress of the panties. He helped Dean settle in to one of his plush chairs, watching him wiggle in place for a moment before being shooed away, all attempts at tenderness brushed off.

“Food,” Dean demanded. “A good fucking always makes me hungry.”

Sam handed Dean a salad box, a fork and a napkin and then stole a passionate kiss before starting the cleanup of his desk and floor. At the rate cum was hitting the carpet these days, the janitorial staff was gonna shit a brick. He listened to Dean breaking open the plastic container and dig in with gusto as he started chattering about his morning, his booted feet propped up on the desk as if he owned the place.

With ten minutes left before they had to part ways, Sam unlocked the door and settled into his chair to start his own lunch. His heart swelled with the domesticity of their shared lunch and he looked across the short expanse of desk to Dean, a barked laugh almost choking him on his bite. Dean was showing his salad covered tongue to him with crossed eyes and finger up his nose. Goddamn, even then Dean was perfect. He was beautiful and he was funny and he belonged to him. In that moment, Dean belonged to Sam and no one else.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our apologies for how long this chapter took to put up. Real life sometimes has an annoying habit of getting in the way of writing time. Thank you for being so understanding, you guys are the best readers us writers could ever ask for ^w^

Sam’s boss, DA Castiel Novak, was an odd sort of man. He was a close talker with a gravely voice and messy hair. He was a brilliant courtroom strategist and prosecutor with a seemingly endless knowledge of the law and precedent. He was also painfully unaware of the most common social skills required to make and keep friends. He was lucky to have Sam.

That was the exact thought that ran through Dean’s head, the scruffy little man was lucky to have Sam to protect him, as he stood toe to toe with the DA in the doorway of Sam’s office. As Sam had been walking Dean to the door, Castiel had burst in, because knocking first was trivial and below his position, swinging the heavy door in and smacking it against Dean’s face.

“Why were you standing in the doorway?” came Castiel’s genuinely confused question, his head tilting to one side as if to hear better.

“I wasn’t standing in the doorway you ass-”

Sam quickly stepped between the two glowering men, cutting Dean off as he rubbed his forehead, Cas scrutinizing him with distrusting eyes.

“He wasn’t in the doorway, Cas,” Sam explained simply, tugging Dean past his boss. “We were just walking out.”

Dean let Sam drag him past his secretary’s desk, past the cubicles and over to the elevators. All the while, ‘Cas’ trailed along like a lost puppy.

“Sam, you cannot leave right now,” he was saying, his voice heavy with concern, his brow creased. “I cancelled your two o’clock as I need your assistance. I am meeting with the mayor and you know that my people skills are 'rusty'.” He motioned air quotes before letting his hands fall to his sides.

The small group paused at the elevator doors where Sam pressed the down button before turning to Cas.

“Dean, this is the DA, Castiel Novak, my boss,” Sam lifted his brows slightly in silent communication. P _lease don’t be mean to him, Dean_. Turning to Cas, Sam waved toward Dean.

“Cas, this is my boyfriend, Dean Smith,” Sam turned expectant eyes to Dean, an eager smile pulling at his lips and a blush creeping up into his cheeks.

Dean felt his mouth fall open before his own smile cracked wide across his face at the title Sam had just used to introduce him. _Boyfriend_. He thrust his hand forward for Cas to shake but didn’t take his eyes off of Sam. His beautiful, brilliant Sammy.

“You date?” Castiel blurted at Sam before taking Dean’s hand in a too firm grip, two shakes of his clammy palm and then he was releasing Dean’s hand. “You are always here, Sam. And your workload is twice what the junior attorneys handle and I have not seen you take personal time before.”

Without warning, Castiel turned his distrusting eyes on Dean again, a dead-eyed squint bringing a sense of menace to the otherwise sweet face.

“Samuel is my best attorney. He is the youngest deputy district attorney in the country. You would be wise to treat him well, Mr. Smith. Heaven and hell both watch over him, I’m sure.”

Sam and Dean exchanged confused looks and then watched the strange man march back past the cubes to Sam’s office to wait for him.

“What the fuck, man,” Dean finally asked. “Your office is just bizarre.”

Sam smirked and pulled Dean to a small alcove beside the elevators that housed a vending machine and drinking fountain, wanting to steal one more kiss before the elevator car arrived. He pressed Dean up against a wall, out of sight of the cubicles in the office, and pulled in a long, deep taste from Dean’s mouth, a hint of caesar salad dressing melting across his tongue in a subtle rush. Sam didn’t know it then, but the taste of caesar dressing would always remind him of pink panties and Dean bent over his desk for years to come.

“You’re calling _my_ office bizarre?” Sam asked with a smile after pulling back from Dean’s mouth. “You work thirty stories up on the outside of skyscrapers on a daily basis.”

Dean only shrugged and grinned. “At least I don’t have to work with a chihuahua that thinks she's a guard dog and a boss whose people skills are ‘ _rusty_ ’.” He mocked Cas’ earlier air quotes with a good-natured chuckle.

Sam rolled his eyes but let out a quiet laugh, crowding Dean back against the wall again, keeping an ear out for the ding that would signify the arrival of the elevator. He settled another kiss to Dean’s mouth, drawing his plump bottom lip in between his teeth for a quick nibble while bringing his hand back around to Dean’s ass to press against the plug lodged snugly between those perfect cheeks.   

“I can’t wait to see those panties again,” Sam said against the corner of Dean’s mouth, feeling himself become more and more aroused with each passing second. “Just keep them on for me until I get off work, okay? I’ll be at your house as soon as I can and I’ll remember to bring my tie with me.”

Dean groaned low in his throat and let himself be groped again, relishing Sam’s attention. “Is that a promise, baby boy?” he asked before prying himself from Sam’s arms. As much as he wanted to stay and continue this dirty talk and heavy petting, he knew that if he didn’t get back to work soon Benny would have him out on the street, close college buddies or not.

He gave a long, lingering stroke to the tent in Sam’s slacks then squeezed past him, sauntering back to the bank of elevators near the alcove. He glanced toward Sam’s office door and happened to catch the gaze of Sam’s boss waiting there. The DA cast him a scrutinizing glare and Dean quickly looked away. He didn’t want to say that this would be the last time he’d drop by to visit Sam at work, but he also didn’t want these visits to somehow dredge up his hidden past, especially being in a place where he might be easily recognized. Did DA’s swap stories? Did his case make national headlines? Maybe he was just being paranoid. _God, I hope so_.

Sam stepped up behind Dean just as one of the elevator doors opened, pressing a surreptitious kiss to the back of his neck. Dean shivered under his lips, but didn’t turn around until he’d stepped into the awaiting car. He shot Sam a crooked grin and a wink that sent a jolting shock of want down to his gut. “Don’t forget the tie,” he said as the doors began closing.

Sam smiled. “I won’t,” he promised. “I lo....uh, I’ll see you soon.” He blushed furiously as Dean disappeared behind the closing doors, embarrassed by his near slip-up. Love confessions, no matter how adamantly Sam felt them in his heart, were best saved for a time when he wasn’t in the middle of a crowded judicial office.  

Shaking his head with a huff of breath and running a hand through his hair, Sam tried to get back into his work mindset, but his thoughts of Dean would not seem to leave him; they never did these days. He absently straightened his tie closer to his throat and strided over to where Cas was waiting for him, accepting the stack of files his boss handed him and only half listening to the meeting itinerary the DA began spouting off as they walked to the conference room. He wasn’t sure how anyone expected him to pay attention and stay focused the rest of the day when the only thing his mind was full of was the different positions he was going to be tying Dean up in later.

 

//////////////////////

 

Dean stared at the closed elevator doors all the way down to the lobby. His ears were still ringing with sound of Sam’s stutter; the shape of his mouth as the “L” and “uh” sound rolled forward before screeching to a halt lingered in his mind. Dean’s stomach flipped and then flipped once more as the possibility bowled him over and then rounded the corner to hit him again. Was Sam about to say ‘love?’ Dean’s excitement bubbled forth first as a smirk but quickly evolved into a smile. That smile finally gave way to giggles, laughter and a whoop that echoed back to him in the small space of the elevator car.

In the last few weeks, Sam had become his everything. Dean’s first thoughts, even before he was really awake, always turned to Sam and when he would see him again. His mind wandered back to some feature or another of that beautiful genius; he’d marvel at how bright Sam’s eyes were the late afternoon sun or smile at the concentration Sam used to shave in the morning. Dean had listened to Sam talk himself through daunting legal puzzles, his furrowed brow rising in surprised satisfaction when he solved his own problems. He’d watched him hand money to every girl scout troop and little league team that asked, even buying pizza for Dean’s kids after a rough practice last week. He’d actually witnessed Sam walk a little old lady across the street on their last outing for dinner. Sam was nothing but wholeness and laughter and hard work. He was sunny afternoons with a side of beach weather. And now he was all Dean’s.

Dean stopped for a moment just before climbing into the cab of his work truck, his stomach flopping once more as his world shifted. He _loved Sam too_. He loved that Sam’s goodness made him want to be good as well. For the first time since his arrest, Dean felt that life had purpose and promise. He wasn’t a desolate island anymore, incapable of sustaining meaningful life. As he started up the truck and pulled out of the parking lot, he was filled with a peace that made him want to sing and cry all in the same breath.

When Dean realized a moment later that he had to tell Sam everything, he was gripped with the reality that he loved Sam more than he’d ever loved anyone; more than he even loved himself. Dean’s nightmares had driven him to guard Sam from his past, fear making him hide that old part of himself. He wasn’t really protecting Sam, was he?  Now that Dean knew he loved him, he couldn’t hide anymore.  

Apprehension twisted Dean’s gut but Sam deserved to really know the man whom he loved and who had fallen in love with him in return. How could he accept Sam’s love without letting him see and hear how much suffering he’d caused? Dean hadn’t crossed the line to murder but there was enough blood on his hands to drive the devil to tears.

As Dean pulled up to the curb to collect his crew, Benny’s advice tickled his memory: _if you wanna keep him around a good while, you have to share it._ Suddenly not telling Sam was inconceivable. His lie and secret felt like spoiled milk on his tongue and he wanted to wash it all clean. The guys piled into the back seat of the crew cab and Benny slid into the passenger seat.

“I was about to get worried,” Benny said, eyeing his nonexistent watch. “You got here with just a minute to spare. I’m impressed, brother.” Benny chuckled and leaned over to turn on the radio.

“I’m gonna tell him, Benny,” Dean’s voice was low but he saw Benny stop, his hand hovering on the radio dial. He was sure that Garth and the others hadn’t heard him but he knew that Benny had. “I’m gonna do it tonight.”

Benny didn't voice a reply, only nodded his head and settled back in his seat. It was that voiceless approval that only solidified Dean’s resolute desire to finally come clean to Sam.  He was going to do it as soon as he saw Sam that night.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you get your ice water and hand-held fans ready, dear readers, this chapter is muy caliente ;) *enjoy*

By early evening, Dean found himself at home, stepping from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, fresh and clean from a shower, wearing a soft black tee and flannel pajama pants. He heard Sam’s car pull up in the gravel drive and smiled to himself, bringing up a hand to comb through his still damp hair. His fingers shook slightly as he did so at the prospect of telling Sam about his past. He was sure that Sam would still accept him, even after discovering all that Dean had done, but there was still a black spot of doubt settling at the back of his mind and it whispered that Sam might turn away from him after learning it all.

Dean forced the thoughts away, focusing instead on how light his shoulders already seemed to feel at the prospect of getting the weight of that hidden guilt and shame off of him. He padded across the open living room on bare feet and readjusted himself in the satiny-soft pair of blue panties he had picked out special for tonight, pulling to a stop when Sam unlocked the door with the key had given him only last week.

Cocking a hip against the couch nearest the front entrance and crossing his arms lightly across his chest, Dean waited for Sam to make his way inside, taking in the view of his boyfriend as he came in and feeling a swell of love warm his heart with the sight. Sam’s beautiful hair was smoothed down and his suit jacket was being held over one shoulder with a hooked finger. His crisp white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows and his collar was unbuttoned. There was no trace of the grey silk tie he had been wearing earlier and Dean’s heart sunk marginally. Sam must have forgotten to bring it.

A feral smile curved Sam’s lips when his eyes finally connected with Dean’s in the low dimmed light and he dropped everything that had been in his hands right there in the paved stone entryway -- keys, shoulder bag, suit jacket, everything -- and advanced on Dean with a thrilling and calculatingly sexy stalk. He shoved his hand in his pocket as he strode forward, pulling out his tie, carefully rolled into a precise bundle and unfurled it with a snap as if he were cracking a whip.

Dean blinked against the wave of arousal that flooded through him and retreated back a step instinctively, not because he was afraid, but because it added to the excitement of being pursued. Sam quickly countered his step and was suddenly on him, a lion capturing his prey. He wrapped the silken tie over Dean’s mouth before Dean could even say hello and grasped the two dangling ends at the back of Dean’s head with one hand while the other snaked behind his hips to hold him close against the hard angles of his body.

Dean drug in a sharp breath through flared nostrils, his teeth digging into the slippery material gagging his mouth, and laughed. His words ‘wait’ and ‘I gotta talk to you’ were muffled hums that Sam ignored with his own chuckle, opting to smack Dean’s hands away when he tried to interfere with Sam’s work.

“What’s that?” Sam laughed against Dean’s cheek, colorless eyes dancing with mirth, “I can’t really hear you over my tie in your mouth.”

In that moment, Dean wasn’t really in the position to be confessing his hidden past with a strip of silk that tasted so divinely like Sam’s sweat bound across his mouth and so wondered what the harm would be of waiting until morning to divulge it all. What was one more day? His mind frantically began forming a plan through the debilitating haze of arousal and joy that fogged his brain: he'd wake up early and make Sam a big delicious breakfast and _that’s_ when he’d tell him. It couldn’t be more perfect.

Giving in, Dean grinned around the tie between his teeth, clasping his hands behind his back, and Sam quickly knotted the fabric at the nape of his neck. He brought his big hands to the front of Dean’s sweats, palming the already growing erection there. Dean let out a muffled moan and Sam pressed forward, backing Dean against the arm of the couch, his mouth licking a hot stripe up the velvet curve of Dean’s ear.

“Please, for the love of god, tell me you’re still wearing the panties.”

Dean chuckled as well as he could with the tie gagging him, and nodded down toward his crotch, an invitation for Sam to see for himself. Sam took half a step back and tugged down Dean’s sleep pants. They whispered to the floor in a cascade of soft cotton and Sam stood staring slack jawed at what they had just covered.

Smiling triumphantly to himself, Dean wriggled his hips, pumping them forward to accentuate the pretty package his cock was wrapped up in. Soft and shiny satin panties in a teal blue color held his bulging package gently with a pretty black strip of sheer lace that ran from the front all the way around the back, following the natural curves of his body. A small black bow completed the entire delicate look, right in the middle of the panties, at the top of the waistband.

Sam swallowed visibly, his eyes running wildly over Dean’s lower half, seemingly having a hard time deciding what to take in first. Reaching behind Dean and deftly finding the cleft in his ass cheeks, Sam fingers sought the plug he had inserted earlier on his lunch break at the office. Dean had left it in all day, very careful not to jostle it too much so as not to lose any of Sam’s precious cum that he had stored up inside himself.

Sam grunted out a noise of approval and suddenly pulled his hands around front, roughly tugging Dean’s pants back up. “Good boy, Dean,” he praised, and Dean felt a shudder of satisfaction roll through him. “Now why don’t you march that pretty little ass straight into the bedroom so I can tie you up properly?"

Dean nodded and dutifully complied. He led the way into the bedroom, swaying his hips seductively the entire way so that by the time they passed the threshold he could hear Sam's breathing start to come in faster and faster pants behind him. His cock gave a thick pulse with each jump in Sam's breaths and when those pants suddenly cut off in a ragged gasp Dean nearly came right then and there. He smiled around the gag stretching his mouth, knowing that the sight of how he had prepared the bed was the cause of Sam's surprise.

The thick comforter was folded down to the foot of the bed and the pillows were stacked neatly on the floor. Two lengths of braided silk rope were already tied to the wooden slats of the headboard and trailed down to the middle of the mattress -- two stark white slashes against the deep navy blue of Dean's Egyptian Cotton sheets. And there in the center of the bed were the pink panties he had been wearing earlier, folded nicely but still as dirty with sweat and Dean's cum as they had been when he had taken them off when he had first gotten home.

This wouldn't be the first time Dean would be tied up by a partner, but it was the first time he would be tied up by Sam and that exciting prospect is what had spurred him to ready the room as soon as he could, his cock throbbing harder with each preparation. The anticipation had been building so much that he had almost rubbed one out in the shower, but had called on every last reserve of his self-control to keep his hands off. He didn't want to come until Sam let him.

And that was his goal now, to let Sam drive this train for a while. Telling Sam was the right thing to do, especially when their relationship was on the verge of growing much deeper. Dean wanted nothing more than to start this next chapter off on the right foot. He wanted to let go and be free of the lies and guilt and, although this was playing out in reverse order from his original plan. Letting Sam break him down tonight just so he could build him back up into something better made Dean’s heart sing.

But Sam came to a stop beside Dean, his eagerness suddenly fading into trepidation at the sight of those ropes. Dean had helped him cross more than a few lines but this was a fantasy that Sam held close to the chest, a dirty secret that he’d only shared with his laptop and a bottle of lotion. In his head, he’d tied Dean to the bed a hundred times, but having the opportunity come to life shook his bravado. It was one thing to let rough run away with you but this… this was intent.

“Don’t flake on me now, Sammy,” Dean had pulled the tie out of his mouth when he saw Sam start to hesitate. Stepping to him, mossy green chased colorful hazel back from insecurity and onto solid ground. “You won’t hurt me, I know, but you can push me as hard as you want. I need you to.”

Sam felt steady again as he watched Dean step back and undress completely but for those incredible panties and lean back onto the mattress, pulling one leg up to spread himself wide. Sam's mouth began to water as Dean’s hands danced across his own skin as he spoke.

“Make me yours, baby boy.” Dean twisted his own nipple and hissed at the pain of it, even as his dick jumped against the sheer fabric. “Mark me up all you want.“ He dragged his nails over the skin of his inner thigh leaving red welts in their wake. “Show me how you're gonna make me yours, Sam.”

Dean’s dick throbbed and dripped wet when the sweetness finally left Sam’s face, replaced by the wild thing he loved so much. Sam’s jaw was set and the muscle in his cheek bunched as he clenched his teeth. Hidden behind his bangs now, his eyes were darker and his body tensed like the hunter he became when Dean pressed just right.

Needing that deep feral desire now more than ever, Dean pressed harder, recklessly coaxing out Sam's wildly possessive side when he pleaded desperately, "Please, Sammy, break me in so no one else can have me. Make me better, Sam."

Sam suddenly let out a savage growl, hands flying up to his open collar, fisting in the expensive material and ripping the dress shirt open in one swift jerk. Buttons flew in all different directions and Dean blinked in stunned surprise, his eyes instantly riveted to the bunch and glide of Sam's chiseled muscles as he tugged his ruined shirt from his shoulders.

Sam's slacks came off next, followed quickly by his boxers. And then Sam, completely and gloriously naked, was launching himself onto the bed. The force of the impact would have damn near bounced Dean right off the mattress if Sam hadn't immediately pinned him down by roughly straddling his hips. Hazel eyes, almost completely black for the dilation of their pupils, roamed hungrily over the panties and then the flushed expanse of Dean's chest.

"Tell me how to do this," Sam demanded, grasping one of Dean's wrists in one hand and a trailing length of rope in the other.

Dean looked up at him, a staggering swell of love tightening his chest. Even now, when desire was careening both of them past the boundaries of reason and self-restraint, Sam still didn't want to hurt him.

Falling silent but for the labored breathing heaving from his lungs, Sam watched attentively as Dean gave him a crash course in knot tying, occasionally humping his hips forward to rub his bare cock against Dean's silk covered erection. A wet spot soon darkened the front of the panties from Dean's leaking dick and his instructions started coming out stuttered and ragged until Sam finally nodded his understanding, tugging the tie-gag back into Dean's mouth.

Wrenching Dean's hands up over his head, Sam made quick work of the ropes attached to the headboard, tying Dean's wrists up in the soft binding swiftly and efficiently. He could see Dean crane his neck up to watch as he curled forward to check the restraints one more time before settling back to take in his work. Dean pulled on the ropes, his muscles bunching and flexing across his arms and chest in rippled waves. He was more beautiful now than he had been in any of Sam’s fantasies. Through the gag, Dean’s grin shone bright and the wicked glint in his eyes made Sam grunt in satisfaction. Dean would not see this coming.

Sam ran his palms over the outside of Dean’s thighs, caressing the hot skin before drawing Dean’s knees up to his chest. Dean arched his back pressing the plug against the mattress, a throaty moan making its way from behind the silk. Sam’s hands kept roaming, inching their way down the back of Dean’s thighs to squeeze a round cheek in each hand. He panted like an overheated cat for a moment, overwhelmed at all the sensual beauty Dean’s body held, before lifting him by his hips and flipping him onto his knees, crossing his bound arms and forcing him to inch closer to the headboard.

“All mine,” Sam leaned over his back, pressing against Dean’s plugged ass propped up on his own knees, to whisper into his ear.

Dean pulled against the ropes again, arousal burning hot as his dick rubbed against the tops of his thighs. The sensation was delicious as Sam drew his hard flesh over the cleft on Dean’s ass, pressing against the plug though satin fabric with each pass.

“This is all well and good, Dean,” Sam’s voice was a hot whisper against Dean’s neck, “but I asked you not to change those panties didn’t I?”

Dean stopped rutting for a moment before Sam’s meaning sunk in, and then he melted into the mattress knowing a punishment was coming. He'd let Sam lead before, but letting go and leaving himself to the mercy of his giant made his body swoon. He trusted Sam with his heart, what was his skin in comparison?

“I’m going to stuff those pink panties into your mouth now. If you speak after I remove my tie and before I feed you your panties, I’ll have to punish you.” Sam stopped moving now, leaning back on his heels to pull the blue satin down, revealing the plug and Dean’s smooth skin. He reached for the pink lace and asked, “Do you understand?”

Dean’s nod was barely visible and Sam laid a stinging smack on Dean’s right cheek, a bright red handprint springing up instantly. Dean bucked at the pain and groaned loud from his throat. Sam panicked at the mark and fell out of character.

“Oh my god, Dean I am so sorry. Are you okay?” he asked quickly and stupidly. Of course Dean couldn’t answer; he was gagged! Sam untied his material and pulled it free.

“Dude, if you apologize one more time, I swear I will break these ropes and kick your ass.” Dean was stern but smiled anyway as he looked back over his shoulder, his voice both comforting and commanding.

“Right,” Sam answered, clearing his throat and forcing confidence into his voice, “I’m sorry… I mean… do you understand?”

Rebelliously, Dean smirked and answered him with a loud “yes sir” which earned him another spanking. This time Sam didn’t apologize. This time Sam groaned as well.

“Do you understand?” he asked again, authority filling his voice. When Dean gave him an obvious nod and a grunt of agreement, Sam ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, fisting a handful and tugging his head back. He slowly fed the frilly material to Dean, his mouth watering as inch by painful pink inch disappeared into that other shade of pink.

“That mouth of yours is so fucking pretty,” Sam’s voice was hoarse as he chuckled darkly, “but you know that already, don’t you?”

Dean nodded again and was rewarded with a soft caress to his stinging skin.

"There, see?" Sam crooned, stroking over the raised red mark gently. "When you're a good boy and follow my instructions you get a reward."

Dean shivered under his touch, a thin vibration that quivered against the tips of Sam's fingers where they rested upon bare skin and he had to clamp down on the base of his straining cock with his free hand to stave off the orgasm he suddenly felt rushing forward. Dean looked too beautiful like this, with his wrists tied, with his silky panties pulled down to his thighs, with the claiming mark of Sam's large hand shining bright red on his right ass cheek; it was far more than Sam could bear and he seriously considered just jerking his load all over Dean's gracefully bowed back right then. But his desire to unplug that sweet, sweet asshole and bury himself in as deep as he could go ultimately won out.

_You can push me as hard as you want. I need you to._ Dean’s words echoed in Sam’s head.

Reaching his arms over Dean's back, Sam raked his fingernails down the freckled, sun-kissed skin all the way down to Dean's backside, his heart beating hard enough to burst right out of his goddamn chest. He palmed one luscious cheek in each hand, massaging roughly into the supple flesh before spreading them apart slightly. He watched in fascination as the plug jumped in time to a hitch in Dean's breathing and his stretched hole spasmed around the silicone intrusion. Both men groaned simultaneously.

_You can push me as hard as you want. I need you to._

"You've been such a good boy, Dean," Sam praised with a husky rasp, each word Sam’s honest truth. He dug his fingers deep enough into Dean's pliable cheeks to leave little crescent moon shaped indentations where his nails had been when he drug his hands up to tangle in Dean's hair. "And good boys get what's coming to them. I'm gonna pound this ass so fucking hard, you'll remember that you're mine every time you sit down for the next week. Think you'll like that?"

Dean nodded, whimpering out a muffled sob through the panties stuffed in his mouth. He was sold the moment Sam stroked his own handprint so tenderly; he had gladly given in and let go. Sam grinned, swishing his sweat soaked bangs out of his eyes with a toss of his head, leaning back to pat Dean's hip.

"I'm gonna pull this plug out now, Dean, but my dick is gonna take its place. Your ass is going to be so full of my come that it's gonna be leaking out of you for fucking days, just like I know you want."

And before Dean could reply, not that he could anyway with those filthy panties blocking the way, Sam tugged the anal plug out and none too gently. Dean jerked in surprise, straining against his binds hard enough to rattle the headboard. Sam laid a steadying hand at the small of Dean's sweaty back and looked down, brows coming together in worry. But, the sight of Dean's asshole, red, puffy and gaping, had his brain short-circuiting immediately and he was helpless not to lean forward and go in for a taste. He was certain that the cum that had been locked up in there all day would be the sweetest thing he'd ever savor and could not wait even one more second to try it.

Pursing his lips and sealing them against Dean's hole, Sam sucked to try and draw out a taste, but wasn't able to pull any of the sticky release out. _I must have jammed it up in there pretty deep_ , he thought with a grin of pure male satisfaction curling his mouth.

_You can push me as hard as you want. I need you to._

He pulled his mouth away and heard Dean let out a muffled moan. Angling Dean's hips a little lower, he commanded, "Bear down, Dean."

Dean made a smothered noise that sounded an awful lot like _"what?"_ and Sam quickly gave his ass another hard spank. "I said bear down. Push that spunk out of your asshole right fucking now or I will _not_ let you come."

A visible shudder wracked through Dean's whole body and he vigorously nodded his understanding. Sam sat back up on his haunches to watch as Dean began straining first his tied arms then his shoulders and back. It was a mesmerizing ripple effect that Sam could not take his eyes away from as it worked its way down. And then Dean's hole, still gaping and lax, began to wink closed under Dean's trembling movements. Sam brought his thumbs up to spread the entrance back open just as Dean grunted out a low muffled warning.

Sam quickly latched onto Dean's asshole again right as his own cum, hot and wet and exquisite, came rushing forward to coat the inside of his mouth. He gathered a good portion of it and held it on his tongue, pulling back quickly and shoving his cock in deep before any more could escape.

Dean cried out, bucking back onto Sam's dick as best he could with his hands tied, feeling the fullness of that huge cock stretching him wider than the plug had been. His teeth clenched down on the dirty panties in his mouth, squeezing out a moist surge of briny tasting saliva that oozed down the back of his throat. Sam was suddenly laying over his back as he continued jackhammering into Dean's ass, the added weight pressing Dean down further into the mattress and then the panties were being pulled from his mouth.

Dean craned his head to the side, dragging in a gasping breath right as Sam's lips smashed against his own. At first Dean thought Sam was working his mouth open for a deep kiss, but then a heated and dark tasting wad of semen came streaming across his tongue and Dean took it for what it really was; Sam was snowballing and Dean gladly accepted it, swallowing down the load in one big gulp.

"Good boy," Sam panted as he pulled back.

Dean felt the praise tingle all down his spine to his toes before making its way up to settle deep down in his thudding heart. He rutted his hips down onto the bedding on Sam's every upswing, trying desperately find friction for his aching cock.

"Aww fuck-" he began choking out, feeling the coil of impending release tighten low in his gut.

Sam's hand was suddenly clamping over Dean's mouth, cutting off his words all while he continued thrusting mercilessly. "I'm only leaving the gag off so I can hear you scream my name. That's the _only_ thing I want to hear come out of your mouth."

Arching his back to pull Sam in even deeper, so very close to the edge, Dean cried out his lover's name in a broken stutter.

"That's it, Dean. Just like that. " Sam pumped his hips hard enough to rattle the bed frame and Dean swore he saw stars.  

And then Sam's hand was wrapping tightly around Dean's straining cock, smearing his precum all around the length of him and jacking him roughly. Dean's world blurred to white. "Oh god," he sobbed hoarsely.

Sam's mouth was instantly against Dean's ear. "No, Dean. You don't say his name when I fuck you, you say _mine_."

Those commanding words were exactly what Dean needed to send him careening straight over the edge. His whole body tensed with the orgasm that shook through him. Sticky ropes of cum splattered wetly onto the sheets as Dean exploded into a million pieces with one last desperate cry.

"Oh, Sammy!"

Sam followed Dean into that sweet breathless oblivion almost simultaneously, filling Dean up more than he'd ever felt before, the hot spend like a glue that held them momentarily together. For several moments, they lay curled together that way, each gasping for breath as the high of their passion floated back down; Sam splayed over Dean’s curved back, his long fingers tracing lines along the skin of Dean's bicep. The world had stopped for them and neither was in a rush to get it going again. Not until Sam felt it, a tremor that shook Dean’s shoulders and made him heave for breath. Sam was up and off of him in an instant, untying the soft ropes and rolling him over.

Regret filled his voice as he spoke, his hands running over every inch of Dean’s skin, looking for a sign of actual injury. Sam was suddenly confused and afraid because after this earth shattering sex, Dean was crying and hiding his face and he was sure that it was because of what he had done.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I thought it was okay. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I -”

But Dean cut him off even as another sob tried to close his throat. He grabbed Sam’s face, his fingers curling into his hair, and pulled him close, determined to meet the beautiful man’s eye. “I love you, Sam.”

The words echoed through the room like a symphony and Sam was sure a choir of angels raised their voices as well because those words were the most beautiful music he had ever heard. But Dean was still talking, almost manic and desperate.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Sam, and I don’t deserve you but dammit I love you more than anyone or anything. There ain't no me if there ain't no you.”

Sam pulled back, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, stunned into silence. His heart fluttered with Dean's vulnerable openness and he had to blink back the tears that suddenly crowded his vision.

He could honestly say that no one had ever spoken those words to him, those words that carried so much promise and trust and unadulterated devotion. There was no other person that Sam had ever been with that had felt compelled to confess such things, not that he had let anyone as close as he had let Dean, but still.

He had thought for so long that he was undeserving of that kind of love, the kind that damn near suffocated with its intensity, the kind that was reciprocated so completely and so easily. He had resigned himself to never being lucky enough, worthy enough, of being on the receiving end of words like that. But now, now he knew better. Dean loved him and he loved Dean. It was as simple and pure as that.

Dean looked up at him with his soul in his eyes, his hands still fisted in Sam’s hair. “Sammy? Buddy, please say something. Don’t leave me hanging like this.”

Sam didn’t answer, he couldn’t even if he wanted to. He desperately needed a taste of Dean’s mouth, his body crying out for it like a smothered flame cries for oxygen; it grounded him and shook him into a thousand shattered pieces all in the same breath.

He kissed Dean until they were both panting and trembling, finally drawing back enough to wipe away a tear that tracked down Dean’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I love you, Dean. I think I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you outside my window. You’re the piece of me that’s been missing for so long. When you’re with me, I’m whole.”

The relief and joy that passed over Dean’s face was absolutely breathtaking in its beauty. Sam pressed an unendingly tender kiss to his forehead, then leaned back to take Dean’s wrists in his hands, gently mouthing across the angry red ropeburns there. “Let me take care of you, Dean,” he said softly, reverently, because being able to care for the man in his arms was the greatest honor Sam could ever comprehend.

Dean nodded and looped his arms around Sam’s neck, holding on tightly when Sam hoisted him off of the bed in one graceful move. He gave a cursory glance back to the mattress and the mess he’d made of the sheets, embarrassment washing over him and burning at his cheeks as Sam started carrying him out of the bedroom; Sams’ come must have loosened him up more than he had realized.

“Shhh,” Sam whispered, holding Dean close against his chest as he maneuvered them into the bathroom. “Let me take care of you,” he said again.

And for once in his life Dean just let go. He let someone besides himself worry about what would be coming next. Sam drew him a bath and washed him gently, cleansing him inside and out. The only black mark Sam could not scrub away was that of Dean’s past. But that was a blemish Dean was going to purify tomorrow morning. He could not hide the truth from Sam any longer, not with the depth of love he had for Sam flowing so thickly through his veins. Not when he knew Sam felt the same way.

After drying Dean and dressing him in his softest pair of sleep pants, Sam laid him down on clean sheets, tucking him into bed with the utmost care. Dean almost instantly drifted off to sleep, with a whispered “I love you, Sammy” ghosting from his mouth and Sam’s kiss pressing to his lips.


	19. Chapter 19

2:47 am. That was the time shining back at Sam in glaring red numbers from the alarm clock on the nightstand. He blinked tiredly through the darkness, rolling over onto his side to see what had just woken him.

Dean was beside him, shifting and moaning uneasily, obviously in the throes of another bad dream. It wasn't the violent jerks and thrashing like from the nightmare that had woken Sam just a few nights ago, but it must have been enough jostling to pull him from sleep just then.

Sam scrubbed his hands down his stubbled cheeks and sat up in the bed to soothe Dean. Reaching over, he pet gently through Dean's hair then rubbed over his tensing shoulder, murmuring out soft words of comfort and love. Dean's furrowed brow quickly smoothed out under Sam's touch and he settled into the mattress, curling in on himself like a small child, all without waking once.

Sam sighed, drawing his knees up and resting back against the headboard. There was no way he'd be getting back to sleep anytime soon now that he was so fully awake. Swinging his long legs over the side of the mattress, Sam got out of the bed to head to the kitchen for a warm cup of tea.

He padded his way across the hardwood in the living room after leaving the bedroom, absently glancing over at the mess he'd left in the entryway earlier. His coat and shoulder bag and keys were all still lying in a pile on the floor. He looked away, smiling, and walked into the kitchen to start the teapot boiling. The file he knew was in his bag was calling to him now that it was quiet.

After the water had finally started boiling and he had poured himself a steaming mug of chamomile, Sam went to gather his things from the floor, an inexplicable feeling of trepidation tickling in his stomach when he picked up his bag. He sat down on floor in front of the couch, putting his tea off to the side without having yet taken a sip, and slowly pulled out the file Becky had given him.

He couldn't really explain why he suddenly felt so nervous. Finding out who the bastard was that had hurt Dean was all Sam could think of since they had left the F Bar that night. Bringing that bastard to justice wasn't just something Sam wanted, it was what he _needed,_ not only for Dean, but for himself too. So there wasn't really a reason to make himself wait any longer than he already had, right?

Blowing out a pent up breath, Sam opened the thick manila folder and started by spreading the documents across the floor. Picking up the background check first, Sam learned that Vincent Walsh lived in small suburb of Lansing, Kansas and had worked as a guard at the correctional facility there for almost fifteen years now. He was a single man with no children or ex-wife listed. His parents were deceased and he had one brother, Paul Walsh, who also lived in Kansas. He must have been on vacation that weekend and Sam wondered if the other man had been the brother.

He sat back for a moment remembering that Dean had moved to Houston from Kansas a few years ago. He felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, much as they always did when he was interviewing a guilty perp. It was like his whole body just knew when someone was guilty and his intuition was trying to warn him. He bit back the dread and moved on to the next set of documents.

He rifled through his criminal record and found a few tickets but nothing unusual. Other than the fight at the F Bar, he’d never been arrested and, according to the court documents, had already paid the fine and restitution for the property damage charge from that night. Still, Sam’s skin began to crawl, his back suddenly coated in a thin layer of sweat. There was something here that he was missing, he just had to keep looking.

He finally turned his attention back to his work history. Becky had requested his employee file and had actually succeeded in getting a copy. Damn but she was fantastic. He flipped through the usual employment papers, giving each just a half glance. He was looking for his evaluations. If Walsh was as bad as Sam believed, his supervisor would have noticed something along the way.

“Bingo,” he whispered to himself when he finally found them. Walsh had been reviewed every year since starting and, in addition to the review reports, there were a few write ups and prisoner complaints against him. It looked as if Walsh was good at either learning from his mistakes or covering his tracks because he was never written up for the same violation twice. As Sam reviewed them a second time, he noticed a pattern of passive aggressive behavior - each write up was within a week of a prisoner complaint. Also, the write ups were usually for minor violations of protocol - leaving a prisoner in a holding cell for longer than necessary or not calling certain prisoners for chow. When presented as cause and effect, it was obvious that the man had a problem.

Sam took a deep breath and began to compare the inmate names on the complaints to the write ups. If he found that they were correlated, he may be able to get the KS DA to look into Walsh for him.

That was when he saw it. Dean Smith, inmate 20031210. His name was on three complaints, all for the same type of behavior - harassment of him and other inmates.

Dean Smith. Inmate 20031210.

Sam stared at the complaint. He felt the first trickle of disbelief immediately war against the confirmation. The words ‘cognitive dissonance’ floated across his mind again as conversations began to play themselves in Sam’s head. Dean’s refusal to discuss the man, his nightmares, hell, even his rage at the club pointed to a prior connection. How could Sam be so blind?

Sam sat very still for almost a whole five minutes, his mind working through the last few weeks.

_“I’m no saint, Sam. I’ve got some ghosts following me around.”_

_“I’m not a nice man, not really.”_

Dean was trying to tell him in the beginning, wasn’t he? He was testing the waters at first. And then he just stopped trying. He stopped. Sam started to collect all of the papers and stuff them back into the envelope, the need to leave suddenly making his hands shake. His desire to make Walsh pay was gone only to be replaced by a rock in his stomach.

_“It’s only a big deal if you make it a big a deal, Sam,”_

As he tucked the file back into his bag and put on his shirt and shoes, Sam tried to reason his way out of the conclusion that his head had made. Smith is a pretty common name and lots of people are from Kansas. _Besides, this was a huge deal and Dean wouldn’t lie about something so important, right?_ He had just told Sam how much he loved him. There was no way he would hide something like this.

As Sam made his way out to his car on unsteady legs and tossed his stuff into the backseat, he negotiated with himself. He would run home, log onto the VPN and check out this inmate 20031210. He would prove to himself that the Dean Smith that had won his heart, the man that believed in him in a way that he didn’t even believe in himself, was not the same man. And then he’d come back. Just like that. He’d come back to Dean and home and love.

 _I’ll just be right back_ , he thought and pulled out onto the road.

 

//////////////////////

 

“I know you’re home, Sam,” Dean bellowed through the door, “Mrs. Ferguson said so.”

Dean pounded on the door again and then gripped the doorframe to wait. What happened? Why had Sam just left? Why wasn’t he answering his phone?

Dean had awoken sluggishly and with a satisfied stretch. He chalked up the empty half of his bed to Sam's obsession with early wake up calls, but when his trek to the kitchen left him Sam-free he'd started to worry.

Bag gone. Car gone. No return phone calls. No texts. By 2 o'clock Dean had had enough and headed over to Sam's apartment. And that's where he was now, pleading with the closed door to let him see his baby boy.

“Sam, if you don’t open up right now and let me know that you’re okay, I’m busting it down.” He took a step back as he began to count out loud, raising his foot at two.

“What do you want?" Sam asked as he swung open the door, his voice a harsh growl. Dean had never seen him so disheveled. His hair was a tangled mess; he had either been yanking on it or had a terminal form of bedhead. He hadn’t shaved for the day and his pajamas were a size too big.

Dean stared in open disbelief at the mess standing in front of him him before taking a step forward, reaching out to reassure his love.

“Whoa, man,” Dean started, “whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

But rather than falling into Dean’s waiting arms, Sam stepped further into his apartment and used the door to block his entrance. His face, red and splotchy, was a mask of hard lines and cold fury. It was the face Dean had seen in his dream and it sent an icy bolt of unease straight down to the pit of his stomach.

“Go away, Dean,” Sam’s voice waivered. “There is no ‘we’ and I doubt there ever was. Just leave.”

Dean pushed his foot against the closing door and shoved his way in, sending Sam stumbling back but not fighting. It was happening, Dean knew, and he felt a part of himself die with the understanding. His eyes flicked over Sam's shoulder and he could see papers strewn across the bar behind him, the reports, the photos and he knew. He hung his head for a moment, his throat tight.

“You lied to me," Sam whispered.

The words hung like frost in the air between them. Sam watched Dean, the guilt tensing his shoulders and keeping his eyes locked on the carpet. Sam felt the agony well up in his chest again, threatening to overwhelm him as it had so many times today. The crippling anguish clawed at his heart, stealing his breath. He forced himself to breathe in deep and turned to anger, the warmth of rage easing his suffering.

“I know, Sammy, I -”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam stopped him. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

“I know,” Dean said again, his voice trembling and unsteady, “I’m sorry, Sam. That day outside your window, I didn't think we'd get this deep. I didn't even think we'd be a thing and I didn’t mean to lie, exactly. I just -”

“Just stop!” Sam interrupted, harshly. “You didn’t _mean_ to lie? What the fuck? Or maybe you just didn't _mean_ for me to find out. The guy at the club? Never seen him before? My god, Dean, you must think I’m a complete idiot!” As he spoke, Sam’s blood began to boil. His shaking hands cut the air as he gestured wildly, stepping forward and into Dean’s space. “I trusted you. I believed you when said… said…”

Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulders, his eyes pleading. “I meant that, Sam, all of it. I'm so caught up in you and I know you feel it too. I know it's like you get high on me just like I do with you -- you're like a drug I can't get enough of. _I love you._ I didn’t lie about that, I promise. I tried to tell you last night about this but it just didn’t happen. I want to …”

“I don’t care what you want,” Sam growled (lie) and shook free of Dean’s hands. “Any longing I had for you is gone, Dean," (LIE). He turned and grabbed a set of papers from the bar, eyes roving over the lines for the millionth time before shaking the information at Dean, the memory of the discovery fresh in his mind.

Pulling up Dean's criminal record when Sam had gotten home had been laughably easy; it was all right there, laid out in black and white. The facts had hit him like a cold, hard slap in the face after he had spent his whole drive over trying to convince himself that it was all a mistake. Each new piece of information pushed him into a near obsessive hunt to find out as much as he could, his heart breaking over and over again.

Dean must have had a rough time with his teenage years, racking up a few charges for aggravated assault for fights in school, but then mostly fell off the radar during his college years. There were only a few mentions of more, seemingly calculated assaults but they never amounted to anything and the charges were always dropped. Sam knew the patterns of a Mob enforcer when he saw one.

"Prison? Mob boss!?!” Sam was almost yelling now. “Crowley Fergus, Kansas' _biggest_ Mob boss? What’s it like being the Mob's heavy? _Surprisingly_ ," Sam scoffed with a humorless laugh, "you _were_ involved with architecture after you graduated. At least one thing you said was the truth.” Sam practically spat the words at him.

"It wasn't like that," Dean tried again, but Sam was beyond reasoning. Dean had fallen in with a bad crowd and, to Sam, it was obvious from his arrest record that he continued to keep his duties with the Mob even after graduation.

Sam stepped back to the bar and rifled through papers again, this time coming back with a newspaper clipping. He read it aloud:

_“In an elaborate scheme that had taken Kansas officials years to finally bring down, Dean Smith began his criminal career designing houses with secret access points that would allow his men to easily infiltrate the homes and burglarize the unsuspecting homeowners…. Though the group raked in hundreds of thousands of dollars from fencing the stolen goods, only Smith would be indicted for the crime.”_

Sam knew that Dean had served a total of three years in a federal prison with two years of probation tacked on. It was the veritable equivalent of a slap on the wrist and that made Sam more upset than anything else. Dean's apparent undying loyalty to Crowley lead him into taking the fall for the crime and even then he had still gotten off easy. Sam didn't feel that the time served was at all sufficient, not even fucking close.

"How did you get off with just conspiracy and grand larceny?" Sam shouted, "What, did you fuck the judge too?” In his fury, Sam threw the papers at Dean, each accusatory piece floating to the carpet with disturbing grace.

Sam was sure he had hard evidence in his hands. He _did_ have evidence, but it only painted the picture Crowley had wanted it to paint. His file didn’t detail Dean's efforts to leave that life behind or how his arrest record and criminal ties hung like a pair of albatrosses around his neck. It didn’t recount his year of trying and failing to get in with various architecture firms, trying to turn down marks and sleeping in his Baby when he finally got evicted.

He was at the end of his rope and living off of Benny’s charity when he began designing houses under Crowley's direction. His choices were limited - continue to dole out the pain for the organization, use his degree for Crowley’s purposes or let himself be crushed by the meatgrinder rituals of leaving the organization. Dean was hard but he knew he wouldn’t survive his exit. His choice was practically made for him.

Dean paled as Sam’s words sunk in and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes to keep the accusations and tears at bay. He missed Sam’s wince and instant regret, his words stinging his own heart as much as he’d hoped they’d hurt Dean’s. When Dean pulled his hands away, revealing watery eyes the stark shade of cut sea glass, Sam’s breath caught in his throat. Dean was a liar and a criminal who had played him, the young deputy DA, probably just for sport. There was no reason for him to look so mournful or heartbroken.

"Please, Sammy," Dean threw the last of his pride aside, "I wanted you to be the one. Nothing else matters, Sam, please."

“Yeah well, you know what I want?," Sam rasped, his voice hoarse with sorrow, "I want you to be the one that got away."

Dean paled again, tears flowing freely for Sam to see. It was too much. Sam started pushing Dean, pushing him back towards the door, his hands fisting into his shirt.

"Stop it," Sam growled. “You don’t get to do that. You don't get to look at me like that and think that I'll just forgive you. Get the fuck _out_!”

And then Dean was begging - begging to be given a chance to explain, begging him to please stop pushing, to just please wait. But Sam wouldn't stop, he couldn’t stop, he had to get him out.

When the door finally separated them again, Sam turned his back to it. He was so tired and so hurt and so stupid. How could he believe someone so wonderful could even be real, much less love him? Sam sank down on the floor, his back against the wood that kept Dean out. He listened to his pleas for a few moments before giving way to another wave of tears, his weakness flowing down his face like rivers.

He wanted to go back in time to before he'd met Dean. He wanted to forget his beautiful face and how secure in his own skin he felt when Dean held him. He may be fit and trim on the outside, seemingly successful and put together, but he knew that he was still that fat loser on the inside. The hurt of Dean’s betrayal just made it even more clear - no one would love that boy. Not ever.

 

///////////////////////////////

 

Dean stood at Sam’s door, knocking and pleading, until he was hoarse and the neighbors threatened to call the police.

He ran his hands through his hair and tugged hard, the sharp flare of pain distracting him momentarily from his stupidity and heartache. But it couldn't block out the anguish gathering deep in his chest for long. The hall became blurry as his pain washed over him anew,  wetting his eyes and spilling down his cheeks as he made his way to the elevators, uncertain of where to go but sure he wasn’t wanted here.

How had he let this happen? How had he let this snowball so quickly and get away from him? Just yesterday he was the apple of Sam Swesson’s eye, a fresh faced teenager hungry for love and life. In an instant, he had become Dean Smith, ex-boyfriend, ex-con, ex-everything. Goddamit but he couldn’t run fast enough or far enough or _ever_ enough to be free of the past that haunted him so mercilessly.

When the elevator door opened, Dean took one last look down the hall to Sam’s closed door. “Please,” he begged into the empty expanse of space that stretched out between them before stepping into the car.

He was leaving his heaven behind and every part of him screamed in revolt. He blocked the door from closing once and then again, hoping to see Sam's tall frame make its way to the elevators in that graceful, loping walk Dean had come to recognize so well. But it was all just wishful thinking; after all those missteps he had so selfishly made he knew that he'd never see Sam again, and he didn't deserve to.

Letting out a watery and ragged breath that seemed to claw its way up his throat, Dean resignedly stepped back into the elevator car to let the door close, even as his heart spasmed painfully in protest. He wanted to run back to Sam's apartment, wanted to demand that Sam let him in, wanted to break the fucking door down, something, _anything_ to get Sam to just _listen_ , to give him a chance to apologize for Christ's sake.

A great aching need to fight welled up deep in Dean's burning chest, to fight for what they had, to fight for _them_. Only, how could he even try when Sam was shutting him out so completely? And why should Sam even give Dean a chance to explain himself? Why, after the lies and half-truths that Dean had told him, should Sam be expected to believe the reality that his files didn’t show? To understand why he did what he did? To forgive him at all?  

Dean was poison, he knew he was. He destroyed anything he came in contact with, he hurt everyone he loved, including and especially Sam. Why did he think that Sam's light and goodness and purity could somehow be enough to chase away the damage that was carved so deeply inside him? _What a goddamned idiot I was_ , he thought to himself bitterly, _to think that this could have turned out any differently than it already has._

Maybe it was all for the best. Sam didn't need such toxic trash in his life and Dean refused to drag Sam down into the muck with him anymore than he already had. And so, with that shattering conviction cutting deep furrows into Dean's already fractured heart, he pushed the down button on the elevator, and this time he did not try to stop the door from closing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A portion of the dialogue between Sam and Dean was derived from the Civil War's song "The One That Got Away", which can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PxCbfJtM2kU   
> Our apologies for any undue feels this chapter caused, check back soon to see how/if our boys can fix this


	20. Chapter 20

The week that followed Sam's heartbreaking discovery, the most miserable week of his life, came and went in a painful blur of little sleep, skipped meals, and far too many shots of bourbon. He had somehow trudged through work without breaking down into tears in front of anyone, choosing instead to adopt a hard, stone-set expression that thankfully steered most people away from him. It also spared him from the pitying and curious questions he knew they were all just dying to ask.

Early in that week, when the pain was still so glaring and fresh, Sam had seriously considered just taking the rest of the week off so that he wouldn't have to see the worried glances Becky and Cas kept giving him. But he knew he wouldn't have been able to spend that much time at home without losing his mind, not when every single fucking _square inch_ of that space brought back the memories of when Dean was there, of when Sam so stupidly believed they had something real.

But it wasn't just Sam's apartment that held traces of Dean; he was reminded of him wherever he went. The inside of his car, the baseball field he drove by on his way to work, Christ, he couldn't even look out the window in his own goddamn office without wanting to bury his face in his hands and cry until he felt nothing but numb. Everything he did, everything he saw, seemed to dredge up some memory that tried to claw open his already destroyed heart.

It was all he could do to not let himself utterly fall apart. They only way he didn't in those dark days was to throw himself into his work, taking on as many cases as Cas would allow.  He ran himself ragged, because then at least his mind was occupied beyond something other than Dean's betrayal.

Cas had given Sam the work he had needed to completely immerse himself in thoughts other than the ones that spoke of heartache and pain and the agonizing ignorance of those lies that should have been so blatantly obvious. The work his boss had supplied him, though, wasn't without its own set of strings; Cas had held the stack of cases in one hand with a stern expression and had ushered Sam into his office with the other. He absolutely would not take no for answer when Sam had tried begging off the talk he knew was coming. Cas wasn't one for conversation, he had told Sam as much himself, so Sam had been totally baffled as to why Cas was suddenly taking an interest in his personal life at all. It wasn't as if he had been slacking off in his work that week, he had been asking for more, in fact.

“Does this have anything to do Mr. Smith?" Cas asked, motioning in the general direction of Sam's slumped shoulders and red-rimmed eyes with the thick stack of files in his hand.

Sam's heart contracted with a broken ache at the mention of Dean's name but he carefully kept the pain schooled from his expression. He silently shook his head and reached for the case files.

Cas pulled them back just out of Sam's reach. "I may not know the specifics of what happened, but I am a very observant man, Sam. I can see that you are a miserable wreck. You look awful."

Sam scoffed out a watery, humorless chuckle. "Gee, thanks, Cas.

Cas' face softened and he cocked his head to the side. "No matter what happened between you two, Sam, if Dean is deserving of forgiveness you cannot continue to deny him the due process of exoneration."

Sam's jaw set on a hard edge and his hands fisted at his sides. "This is not a court case, Cas," he said, voice trembling. "This is my _life_. And sometimes people don't deserve forgiveness."

"Sam," Cas sighed, shaking his head lightly, "Before this week, you were the happiest I'd ever seen you. I have no doubt that Dean was the cause of that in some capacity. You cannot just walk away from something like that--"

Sam cut Cas off with an exasperated sigh, reaching for the files again. He wanted nothing more than to stop this pointless conversation and just get back to work. But Cas held up his hand firmly, continuing on.

"In all the years you have served here, I have seen you act with the utmost compassion and clemency toward even the guiltiest defendants. This is just not like you, Sam." He offered the thick stack of case files to Sam but kept a tight grip on them. "If there is one thing I have learned from working in the court system it's that everyone makes mistakes. But it's how we pay for those mistakes and learn from them that defines our character." He paused for a moment, his eyes taking on a thoughtful look. "How we treat those who have wronged us can define us as well."

Sam bristled at Cas' words and he yanked the files from the DA's hand with a little more force than was necessary because, in all reality, there was a small part of him that knew Cas was right. But no matter how right his boss might have been, Sam still felt broken in a nearly irreparable way and the betrayal of Dean's lies was too fresh for him to even _think_ about listening to Cas' rationale.

A hot lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard against it. "This is my personal business," he rasped, forcing his voice not to break, "And I'd _really_ appreciate it if you would just let me handle it myself."

And with that, he left Cas' office and threw himself back into his work. The late nights and endless hours were hell on his mind, body and spirit, but at least it afforded him some modicum of relief from the pain.

But even then there were those times, in the small, small predawn hours before the light crept back into the world, when those thoughts would slink in again and try to drag Sam back down into that black sorrow. He wasn't good enough to deserve the love he had so foolishly thought was sincere. He wasn't smart enough to realize when he was being played. He just wasn't... _anything._

Near the end of the week, when Sam could barely see straight from exhaustion and heartache, he very nearly made the choice to go to the F Bar with the sole intention of finding the first willing man that would follow him back home. He wanted to forget his pain, he wanted to fuck that pain away, but even though his brain was far from rational thought in that moment, he at least had enough presence of mind to know that that wouldn't make it better. And so he'd stayed home, slumped down on his couch, a mostly empty tumbler of bourbon held tightly in a shaking hand, wondering for the millionth time how long it would take for the pain in his chest to loosen its hold just a little so he might finally be able to breathe.  

///////////

Dean was struggling.

On that first night after, he woke up on the dock at his lake, feet in the water, empty bottle of whiskey stuck in the gap between two boards. He didn’t remember making the walk from his house and it was the first night he’d spent at the lake alone since they'd skinny dipped. He threw the bottle across the water and screamed into the open sky and cursed each star for shining so brightly when his world was so black. He passed back out with the sound of his own voice echoing in his ears.

Dean must have left a series of drunk messages that night  because, when he came to for a second time, Benny had him in a fireman's carry and was taking him back to his cabin. The trip was a blur of too bright sunshine, upside down greenery and flashes on nausea. Benny had let the screen door snap back and hit Dean’s shoulder, mumbling all the while about worrying Andrea and Krissy. He’d drunk dialed Krissy?

Benny deposited him on the couch and moved away towards the kitchen, his voice booming as he continued, but the words were a garbled static as Dean felt himself sink down across the sofa. The relentless, suffocating futility that he had been trying to wash away with whiskey slithered over him again, a slimey conviction of his worthlessness.

What-if’s chased each other around in his head, the same questions repeating over and over. What if he’d just forced Sam to listen Friday night? What if he’d just told him about Walsh at the F Bar? What if he’d been upfront on that first date? Better still, what if he’d just not taken Sam home, just gave him the cold shoulder about his credentials like the poor guy had expected and ignored the warmth in his chest that wasn’t the alcohol or the lust? What if he’d just minded his own goddamn business that wonderful day outside Sam’s window?

As he lay there ignoring Benny and wallowing in self pity, images swam through his mind’s eye, adding to his misery. The hurt in Sam’s eyes when he thought he’d been stood up, the insecurity on his face when he first let Dean strip off his clothes, and worse yet, the sweet uncertainty Sam showed when trying to prep him for the first time. It was in those first moments that Dean had fallen in love with Samuel Wesson and it was those moments that stung him the most.

Sam had trusted him with his body, mind and finally his heart and Dean had done everything he knew to do to build up that boy into the man Dean knew he was inside. Dean had promised to give him a safe haven and had instead had ripped it all out from under him. And for what? Self preservation seemed such a weak excuse now.

He turned his head away from the couch cushions to find Benny staring at him.

“What?” he croaked.

“You really did all that?” Benny asked, wonder in his voice.

“Did what?” Dean croaked again, turning his face away, unable to hold the weight of his friend’s eyes.

“Damn Chief, you really do love that boy.” Benny forced Dean to sit up and shoved a mug of coffee into his hands. “So what happened? Did you tell him or did you go chasing your tail again? You got a brain in there right?”

Benny was trying for humor at the end there and Dean tried to smirk against the pain that stabbed his heart again at the questions. Benny had been so right.

“I fucked up, brother,” Dean admitted. “I just … I didn’t want to … he’s so _angry_ , Benny.” Dean choked on the last words, his face crumpling.

Benny sat back in his chair and waited. Dean would talk about this because Benny was going to sit here and wait until he did. Smith wasn’t a touchy-feely guy on the regular but he would fess up when he was ready. Benny had found years ago that despite his choices, Dean Smith was a good man and penance is what good men do.

Benny stayed the night to make sure Dean stayed sober and to make sure he got back to work. Keeping busy always helped him and used to help Dean when he hit these lows. He kept a close eye on his friend; he’d be there when Dean finally felt like talking. It was the same kindness Dean had shown him in their college days when he fought with insurgents in his mind. It was the smartass that kept him from putting a bullet in his head. He was happy to give back any way he could.

Benny watched Dean go through the motions of running his crew and turning in tickets. He was sharper with Garth than he’d ever been and took even less shit from the kids at practice that week. Dean refused to talk about Sam and their fight after he sobered up and all Benny knew was that Sam had figured it out on his own. He wasn’t surprised, if everything Dean said about the man was true, but he hadn’t expected Dean to take it so hard. For the first time since rush week in college, Benny was afraid to hand Dean his paycheck, sure he would drink it away and land himself in a bar brawl just because he could. It was obvious that Dean’s heart was bleeding but he was hiding it all just like the good old days.

Benny sat at his desk, Dean’s paycheck waiting for his scrawled signature. When he took Dean on with his business, he’d made it a point that his salary would reflect as much gratitude as he could swing. He owed Dean his life and they bled together. They fought monsters and demons together in an effort to become whole men. It burned him up to see Dean slide so quickly into anger and suffering. How much does a man have to pay to be allowed to walk the straight and narrow?  Dean may not have been in Iraq but he’d faced more than his share of war fronts and blood thirsty enemies.

As he finally moved his pen against the paper, his mind turned to Sam for the millionth time that week. The man - no, the _boy_ \- must have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth if he refused to see how great a guy Dean could be. There were moms lining up on both sides of the baseball field to get a night out with Dean Smith and they all knew he had a record. What made this asshole so special that he could waltz into Dean’s life, flip it upside down and then just throw it all away for debts long paid in full? Dean was the closest thing to brother Benny had and he had half a mind to give the _boy_ a boot up the ass for wasting a good man’s time. What would Benny give to stand in Sam’s golden office and make sure he knew just what kind of sacrifice Dean made to be the free man he was today? He’d give his right arm, or his left nut. Either one would do just fine if he got to see the look in Sam’s eyes when he realized what a fuck up he was for tossing his brother away like a piece of trash.

Benny was shaking with anger now and didn’t realize he’d even called the DA’s office until he heard a young woman answer the line, “Mr. Wesson’s office. How may I help you?”

He also didn’t realize he was serious until the words passed his lips, “I need to make an appointment to see Sam Wesson, please. It’s urgent.”


	21. Chapter 21

Sam felt that he’d dodged a bullet when he recognized Benny Lafitte's name on his appointment schedule. The handful of times Sam had met Dean's friend had been enough to signal exactly what the meeting was going to be about and he didn't want any part of it.

Sam had seen the name on his planner far enough in advance to have Becky cancel the appointment - if this was not a legal matter then Sam had nothing to discuss. What Sam did not count on was Benny’s subtly, because whereas Dean had pounded at his door, demanding entry, assurance and forgiveness, Benny was calm and disconcertingly patient; to say that it caught him off guard would have been a vast understatement.

After getting a call back from Sam's assistant saying his appointment was "regrettably being canceled due to unforeseen circumstances" (just a fancier way of saying the golden boy was pussying out, Benny knew) he waited outside of Sam’s office for a chance to give the boy a piece of his mind.\

It was well after six when Sam finally emerged from the building with his shoulders slumped and his head down. The overgrown boy hadn’t even looked around the atrium as he exited the building. If he had, he’d have spotted Benny right away. Benny set his mouth into a hard line and smashed out the cigarette he'd been sucking on into the nearest ashtray. He blew twin streams of smoke from his nostrils in a huff, letting his training lead and following Sam’s grim figure as he skulked across the parking lot.

Benny's eyes narrowed marginally under the brim of his newsboy hat and his steps forward faltered when he saw Sam come to a stop and wait sullenly at a bus stop as a dark scrim of ominous looking clouds gathered above them. He was surprised to learn that the ADA prefered public transit to the hot sportscar Dean had described. He’d meant to talk to him right then, stop him in his arrogant tracks and rip into him for the damage he’d hatched in his friend and how it kept growing, threatening to devour Dean from the inside out. But what he saw cross that parking lot stopped him short and made him rethink his strategy.

Gone was the haughty boy who Benny had pictured, a spoiled brat high on his own goddamn ignorance and callousness. In his place was a broken man, nearly as defeated and miserable-looking as Dean; it gave him pause in his trek across the asphalt. But a quickly approaching bus, rumbling loudly down the street, spurred him to move again. He was more confused now, but he needed to hash this out with the boy, for Dean.

A resounding clap of thunder cracked above Benny's head as he stalked toward Sam at the bus stop and the first few droplets of an impending rain storm splattered down on his shoulders. He reached the awning covered stop just as the bus pulled to the curb.

"Sam Wesson, we need to have us a little chat," he called as he pressed himself against the post, letting the small crowd slide around him.  

Sam jumped and turned slowly in the cluster of bus riders surrounding him at the stop. He towered above those in the crowd that moved by him to board the transit home and escape the teasing raindrops. Even though he could have met Benny's eyes easily, he kept his gaze cast down.

“What?” Benny asked taking a step further under the awning but not any closer to Sam, "You've got your head so far up your ass you can’t see a man trying to help ya out?”

The stop was empty now and the bus pulled away, the roar and diesel staining the raindrops. Sam stepped out of the rain, coming down now in slow, fat drops, and eyed Benny from the opposite end of the bench. In the few times he’d seen him at the baseball field, Benny had been relaxed and jovial. He had an easy smile and a calming demeanor that seemed to bring the kids back to peace when they were frustrated. That was not the posture Benny was wearing now.

Sam had a few inches over him, that was nothing new, but the stocky man that watched him seemed efficient and compact. He was tense and kept inching back and forth on his side of the stop, like a predator stalking his prey. Suddenly all the stories Dean had shared of Benny’s PTSD and countless bar fights bubbled in his mind, setting off warning bells and making him feel small. Was Benny here to exact some kind of revenge for breaking up with his friend? Did people really do that?

Sam sighed and put a hand out in surrender, “Look, I know you’re probably here to help Dean save face or to kick my ass or whatever, but I’m too tired for bullshit, Benny.”

"Awful strange way to punch your meal ticket friend," Benny shook his head as he took a step forward, his footfalls echoing flatly in tandem to the raindrops pelting the roof of the enclosure. “I was here to try to save Dean’s ass but now I'm trying to save yours."

Sam felt the need to side step away and soon found himself circling the bench, Benny watching him from one side, Sam keeping his distance on the other.

“What does that even mean?” Sam stopped moving for a moment, his brows coming together in confusion. “You want to help me? Is that some kind reverse psychology zen thing?” He hadn’t meant to, but Sam had trapped himself inside the covered stop, his back to the advertisement and his knees almost against the bench.

Benny stopped pacing as well, having finally trapped Sam in a corner. He was going to have to listen now. There was no where to go. Benny rested a knee on the bench and leaned forward into Sam’s space; his face was almost amused but his eyes were intense.

"Dean’s just about a brother to me," he drawled, "We’ve been on one wild ride after another, but I gotta tell you, he ain’t never been worked over by anyone like he’s been worked over by you.”

Sam blinked in surprise. “Worked over by me?” he asked with indignation, his voice raising in pitch to be heard over the din of the rain that was now pouring down. “He’s the one that lied to _me_. He -”

“Oh I know,” Benny cut him off and then let his eyes roam over Sam for a moment.

The look made Sam squirm but not from any sexual tension or insinuation. Benny’s perusal carried the weight of judgement and scorn. It stung to be judged so openly, even as Sam kept reminding himself that he had every right to be angry.

Benny crossed his arms over his chest and continued, “See now, here’s what I’m seeing: You hit blast-from-the-past-ville with the chief and it’s just too much to let go. I'd say he owes you some back story. I’d say he’s chompin’ at the bit to tell it."

Sam lifted his chin at that, Dean’s pleas echoing in his ears again. He could hear the anguish in that voice as if Dean were standing with them, out of the rain and under the small covering. “What could he tell me that wasn’t already on record?”

Sam felt himself flush as soon as the words left his mouth. He was a lawyer, the _Assistant District Attorney_ for fuck’s sake, and he knew better than anyone that the record only told the story that those in power wanted to be told. A frigid chill washed over him even in the stifling humid heat of a Texas rainstorm and the nagging guilt that had been inching into his nightmares clawed at his gut. He gasped at the physical jolt of it.

A knowing smirk crept onto Benny’s amused face and his empty eyes glazed for a moment before focusing back on Sam. “Aww now, see there? I know you know that’s not the god’s honest truth. Big lawyer man knows better than that, now don’t he?”

Sam stepped back and felt the back wall of the covering bump him, the glossy advertisement pulling his attention for a moment as he looked for an escape route. But Benny would have none of it and he stepped over the bench and pressed Sam back with his imposing stance, almost close enough to touch but not.

“Why are you so high and mighty, little one? Maybe you just like being man meat for every Tom, Dick and Harry." And there it was finally. The spark that Benny had been trying to ignite; get anyone angry enough and the truth will fight to the surface.

“Fuck you!” Sam roared back, straightening to his full height. He looked down at Benny as he continued, an incensed fire burning low in his gut. “I gave Dean _everything_. All of me. All I asked was for him to be honest. If he wanted me, great, but how can I be sure if he can’t even tell me the truth about his life? How do I trust him?” Sam pushed Benny out of his space and then took his own step forward, his temper flaring brighter at Benny’s calm demeanor and smooth chuckle.

“You wanna talk trust?” Benny answered. A loud clap of thunder boomed right over their heads, shaking the thin plastic of the bus stop enclosure before he continued, “Why should _he_ have trusted _you_? The first sign of trouble and you bolt like a jackrabbit what heard the wolf call. Did you even ask about the wolf before you ran?”

Sam opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. He hadn’t asked and he hadn’t let Dean explain. He just didn’t.

“I didn’t think so,” was Benny’s snide reply to his own question. He sat down on the bench and watched the rain as he spoke again.

"Mostly it's the choices, ya know? So many choices. You can keep running like you are now. That’s a choice. You can dig through all the files in the world until you find the answer you like. That’s a choice." He finally looked back at Sam, all casual amusement gone. “Or you can let Dean tell you all of it, the stuff that’s not in the ‘record.’ _That’s_ a choice.”

Sam seemed to shrink in on himself as he sank down on the spot next to Benny on the bench. “I can listen to him but I’m not going to say that I’ll take him back," he said softly, his voice almost completely drowned out by the rain. "I have a right to know what happened.”

Benny huffed out a humorless laugh. "Naw, son, you're either you're in or you're out. You take him as-is or you get nothing. You don’t got the right to nothing that a man don’t want to give."

Sam fell quiet, his eyes dropping down to his hands clasped between his knees. The sudden silence surrounding them was punctuated only by the heavy torrent of rainfall battering the little bus stop. Splashes of the thick droplets soaked into the cuffs of their pants and bounced from the tops of their shoes while Sam mentally wrestled with Benny's words. He knew that on every level Benny was right -- the choices he had were all laid out before him: listen to what Dean had to say and accept him for the man he was or walk away completely and leave behind the only person that had accepted _Sam_ for who he was, the only person who understood Sam's insecurities and self-doubt and did everything he could to show Sam how perfect he already was no matter what light he was cast in. He began to wonder why he was struggling with which choice to make at all.

Sam said nothing for a long time and Benny simply waited until he was good and ready to speak up. He could tell the boy loved Dean, that much was plain to see. But whether he would make the right choice was a little harder for Benny to fret out. He understood Sam was hurt, damn if he wouldn't be a little sore himself if he was put in those shoes, but Dean deserved a chance to explain -- after everything the man had fought through and had fought _for_ , he deserved that much at least.

After a lengthy stretch of time, Sam finally looked up from his hands and cleared his throat. Benny pulled his eyes from the undulating wall of rain outside the bus stop and glanced over at him. The boy still looked weary and wary as all hell, but his eyes were clearer and his shoulders a little straighter. It seemed as if a two ton weight had been lifted from his back. The sight made Benny smile.

"Okay," Sam said after a beat, "I'm in. All the way."

Benny's smile stretched into a grin and he clapped Sam on the shoulder. "I knew you'd come around eventually."

Sam nodded with a small smile and then glanced down to his watch. He looked back up to the sheeting rain and sighed.

"Y'know, I guess I could give you a ride home seeing how I made you miss your bus n' all, as long as you don't mind gettin' a little wet running to my truck over yonder," Benny offered a little sheepishly.

Sam let out a quiet chuckle and stood. "I think I'll take you up on that offer," he said, extending his hand for an amiable shake. "Except, do you mind dropping me off at Dean's instead? We have a lot we need to talk about."

Benny grasped Sam's hand and he pulled him in for a back-slapping hug instead of just a handshake, a swell of pride tightening up his chest. Seemed the boy, no, _man_ standing before him had done a hell of a lot of growing up in the last little bit of time and he was happy he could have been the cause, even if he had played only a small part. Looked like Dean had gone and landed himself a lifer and as far as Benny was concerned, if they could get their heads on straight, he'd landed himself another brother. And he could honest to god say he wouldn't want it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this chapter may not have had the gang busters fight everyone was expecting but Purgatory!Benny has been skulking around in our collective heads for a while now. Hope he's intimidating enough for you guys. *hugs*


	22. Chapter 22

Dean had been sitting in front of his television since he had gotten home from work, staring numbly at the screen with a warm, half-drunk, half-forgotten bottle of beer in his hand. The dark clouds and relentlessly tumultuous crack of thunder outside mirrored his mood as he sat unmoving on his couch, stubbornly pushing away the memories he had made with Sam on that very spot.

But whereas the rain pounded against the window in unending and sloshing wet rivulets, Dean's tears had dried up earlier that week, leaving his eyes scratchy and dry as sandpaper. A constant and heated ache of grief had settled in his throat and even deeper down into his chest, taking the place of the watery and trembling anguish that had been there before. The scorching ache burned hotter with each miserable breath he dragged in until he could feel nothing else. But he didn't want it, didn't want any of it -- he wished with everything he had that he couldn't feel one damn thing.

The only solace that Dean felt was that at least that hurt temporarily blotted out the pain throbbing so thickly in his heart. Each shuddering beat had seemed to splinter the broken pieces inside him even more. He had never meant to lose Sam -- he had also never meant to get in so deep in keeping his past hidden. But now both had happened and there was not one goddamn thing Dean could do to fix it.

Losing Sam had destroyed him far more than he thought was possible. But was it really so hard to believe when he had fallen so hard and so fast? He loved Sam, with everything he was, with everything he had, and he knew with the most profound conviction he'd ever felt that he would do anything it took to get him back -- if Sam would only just _listen_ to his side.

Dean breathed out a low, hitching sigh and pulled off a long drought from his beer. He quickly tugged the bottle back from his lips with a grimace as soon as the warm and tepid alcohol hit his mouth. How long had he been sitting here? He shook his head with a groan when he couldn't remember with any real certainty.

A knock at the door suddenly pulled Dean out of his dreary ruminations and he jerked his head up. "Benny, I already told you to leave me alone!" he shouted hoarsely back over his shoulder.

Another knock followed the first with a more demanding insistence and Dean grumbled out a curse, pushing himself up from the couch and smashing down the off button on his remote. He set his beer bottle down the bar top with a ringing clank as he stomped to the door.

"Goddamn it, Benny," he growled, grasping onto the doorknob and flinging the door open, "What part of _'leave me the fuck alone_ ' do you not understand?"

Dean instantly froze and his heart somersaulted in his chest when he saw that it was not Benny who was standing on his front porch.

It was Sammy. _His Sammy_. Soaking sopping wet and looking positively miserable. Sam pulled his head up from where he had been staring at his shoes. His hair was wetly plastered to his forehead and cheeks and water ran down his face; tears or rain, Dean could not tell. His suit was drenched and raindrops dripped from the ends of his long fingers where his hands hung limply at his sides. He had never looked more desperately in need of a kiss or a hug or _something_.

Dean was about to move forward but quickly restrained himself. He didn't know what exactly Sam had come _for_ after all, especially since the last time he had seen him, Sam had pretty much told Dean he wanted nothing more to do with him. So Dean instead hung back by the  door frame, waiting with baited breath for Sam to just say something already.

Sam swallowed visibly, the last of the day's dying grey light reflected mutely in the sheen of moisture on his throat, and he centered his red-rimmed eyes directly on Dean. He slowly opened his mouth to speak and Dean felt his heart jump again.

"I -I want to hear it," Sam rasped, "I want to hear your side. I should have given you the chance to do it before, but I- I just couldn't. I don't think I was ready. But I'm ready now."

Dean's breath snagged painfully in his throat and he studied Sam's face for a long time, taking in the haggard and drawn look of it. It was so much like his own face staring back at him from the mirror these days, the face he could barely stand to look at most mornings.

A deep pinch of guilt pricked in Dean's chest at the realization that Sam was as miserable as he was, that Dean wasn't the only one feeling like his world had screeched to an abrupt halt. He had been picturing, in his crushing grief, that Sam had moved on already, that Sam had probably forgotten all about him, because why, in all reality, would he spare even one thought toward Dean after what he had done? But seeing Sam there before him, looking the way he did, was enough to convince Dean that it wasn't true at all.

The need to have things back to the way they were before came crashing over Dean again in a sudden, overwhelmingly ferocious rush and he had to brace his hand against the door frame to keep himself upright. He wanted _them_ back, he wanted what they had back without having to hash this all out, because for as much as he had been praying and pleading for a chance to just explain himself to Sam, he acutely understood how fragile this all was. If he said the wrong thing or said it the wrong way or if Sam just decided that he didn't want to hear any more of what Dean had to say, then Dean knew he would lose Sam forever, no exceptions. He was walking a knife's edge and even just one small misstep could destroy everything.

Sam stood silently on Dean's porch, rainwater still continuing to soak into his clothes even under the relative shelter of the overhang, and watched as a bevy of emotions flashed across Dean's face. Sam shifted on his feet, suddenly unsure that even with Benny's assurance that Dean wanted nothing more than to be given a chance to divulge his past, that Dean even wanted to see him at all. But then a smile, small and shaky, tugged at Dean's lips as he rushed forward, his hands and arms finding familiar places on Sam’s body as he pulled him tight into an embrace.

Sam could feel the heat in Dean’s touch even through all the wet layers of his clothes and he sagged into his warmth. His blood flowed like lava as Dean planted wet kisses along Sam’s jaw and neck, words of thanks and praise following each.

“Thank you,” Dean whispered reverently, tugging Sam across the threshold and into the house closing the door behind them. He pulled Sam out of his wet clothes, praying with each kiss and gentle word, that Sam would just let him; let him care for him again, let him fill him with warmth and love him again.

Sam’s head was swimming and he was drowning in the attention before he could register that now his shirt was gone, tossed to the floor with his soaked suit coat and tie. How had he forgotten how Dean’s hands could make his body sing so beautifully with every inch they took? Sam found himself searching blindly for Dean’s lips, his own hands busy now reacquainting themselves with Dean’s skin, plush like a ripe apricot under his shirt.

“I’ll listen,” Sam promised, his voice low as if afraid to break whatever magic had brought him back into Dean’s arms. “Please.”

“Okay,” Dean whispered back, falling to his knees and leaning Sam back against the door. “I will. Just let me… I just need to…”

Words fell away for Dean as he pressed his face against the front of Sam’s slacks, the scent of him filtering through the wet fabric and making his mouth water. Maybe if he could please Sam one more time, make him delirious with pleasure, maybe he wouldn’t have to confess. Maybe he could just pretend again that his time before Sam didn’t exist beyond a terrible nightmare. He would build a new reality around this beautiful boy who had come back to him.

“Please, Sammy,” Dean breathed hotly against the hard length pressing against Sam’s zipper. “Please let me.”

“Oh god yes,” Sam rasped, slamming a fist back against the door behind him as Dean slowly drug the zipper down and pulled his cock from the wet confines of his boxers and trousers.

He’d dreamed of Dean’s mouth around his dick more times than he’d ever admit in these last few weeks and being moments away from having it again sent a jolt of pleasure up his spine and down to his soggy toes. In that moment, nothing else seemed as important as the sensation of Dean’s hot tongue drawing a line up his cock and around the aching and swollen head.

Why had he stopped by again? Wasn’t there something he’d needed, told himself he’d wanted? Desire blinded him for a moment against the alarm bells going off in his head. Warning lights seemed to flash before his eyes and then flicker out as Dean swallowed him down, his teeth just grazing the skin of his shaft. _I don’t care that he’s a liar._ The thought echoed in Sam’s mind one more time before he realized what it meant.

“Stop,” Sam choked out hoarsely, barely audible to even himself. “Stop,” he said again, more forcefully and gave Dean a gentle shove back. Dean grunted, his nose buried in dark curls, the sound a question between them.

“I said stop!” Sam pushed him harder this time, his mouth forming a firm line against the sound of Dean falling backwards. He watched Dean as he tumbled back, really studied him. He was sprawled on the floor on his back, flushed and breathing heavy, shame clear in his pale green eyes. Gone was the usual arrogance and self assurance he had come to love. It was replaced with the same desperate guilt he’d seen in his apartment the day he had discovered Dean's hidden past.

In a spark of understanding, Sam suddenly recognized Dean's behavior for what it really was: he was trying to just sweep the whole thing under the rug like he always did. He was evading the topic in true Dean Smith fashion and Sam was not about to let that happen, not again. They needed to air this whole thing out before it festered and created an even wider rift between them.

Sam looked back down as he tucked himself away and brushed Dean's helping hand aside firmly. "Talk, Dean. Just talk to me, _please_."

"What do you want to know?" Dean asked with closed eyes and a deep sigh, not bothering to stand. "Anything in particular?"

Sam stood motionless in the entryway, dripping puddles onto the tile. The casual tone Dean had adopted threw Sam off and he had trouble finding his next words. He hadn't really known what to expect when he had decided to show up at Dean's doorstep, but it definitely wasn't the instant desire and this insouciance he seemed to be coming up against now.

"What? Anything in partic-?" Sam cut his own incredulous question off and tried another approach, his hands fisting at his sides. "Dean, I came so I could hear you out. Just tell me who you were before we met! I want to know all of it!"

Dean sat up straighter and rested his forearms on his knees, a look of uncertainty flitting across his features before a cool calm replaced it. "I made a lot of mistakes back then, but I've worked hard to make amends for them." He shrugged and stretched his arm out requesting a hand up.

Sam felt a flare of anger warm his gut and his eyes swept from Dean's waiting hand back to Dean's stoic face. He didn't want to be angry, he really didn't. He wanted to hear Dean out, he wanted to accept him for who he was like he told Benny he would. But Dean was not cooperating at all.

He ignored Dean’s hand and settled down onto the floor instead, leaning forward so he was eye to eye. It was Sam’s turn to beg. “Please Dean. I want us to make this right. I need to know.”

Sam watched and waited, Dean’s inner struggle apparent, as always, on his face. His already battered heart thumped like a hammer when Dean’s tear filled eyes froze over with anger.

“What do you need to know, Sam?" Dean’s words burst forth in angry waves. “Do you need to know that I beat the shit out of people for money, huh? I mean I was the grown up after my mom died, remember. It was hurt people or starve, Sam. STARVE! Do you know that that feels like? Dad was a mess and I had to take care of us. Me. I did!”

Dean pushed away and rolled himself over and onto his feet, stalking into the kitchen for a beer as he continued, “I lost count of how many people, oh and the things that I did to them. Do you  know how many times I had to wait to hear if I’d killed someone? Do you know how close I came? How am I supposed to live with that?” He opened the beer and threw the bottle cap at the trash, the tiny piece of metal shattering another bottle in the bin as it made contact.

“But you know what? That’s not even all of it. I enjoyed it, Sam, I liked it. All those years; all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn't care who they put in front of me, because  that pain I felt, it just slipped away.”

Dean turned his back to Sam then, setting his beer on the counter, and watched the rain pounding against the glass. Sam waited, his brain filling with a million questions, but he forced his mouth shut. Dean was sharing and, even though what he was telling him was terrifying, he didn’t want him to stop until he’d said it all.

“No matter how many kids I help now, I can't change that. I can't fill this hole. Not ever.” Dean paused, his throat tight, breathing deep before continuing.

“I tried to get out, I swear to god I did,” Sam cringed at the crack in Dean’s voice and he closed his eyes even as he silently stepped into the kitchen. “But you know what I got when I tried to leave? A big fat nothing. No interviews. No work. No money. What the fuck good is an architectural degree if all you really know how to do is hurt people? I’m a grunt, Sam, and I was gonna die with a gun in my hand. I didn’t have a choice.”

Dean jumped when he felt Sam’s hand on his back. The soothing gesture made his jaw ache with unshed tears. He’d cried enough over the mistakes he was recounting. He would shed no more.

“I think Crowley did it to me really. I think he put the word out and no one would hire me. Fuck, maybe not. I mean who wants a dumb fuck like me with the arrest record I’ve got? He was the only one to take me in after college. And I could do what I loved - draft houses. I knew it was illegal and probably worse than being hired muscle. But at least I didn’t come home with broken fingers and blood on my clothes. Goddamn, at least I _had_ a home.”

“Are you out, Dean?”

Sam’s question, the only real question to ask, hung between them, either a noose or a kite string. Only Dean’s answer would determine which.

“Yeah I’m out,” Dean spit the words, a harsh and hoarse chuckle rolling out with them. He turned as he spoke, “See we made a deal: Crowley would let me out if I took the rap for his operation. I do the time and I get to walk free when it’s over. Hardest five years of my life. But I got out and my life is mine now. _Mine_.”

“Dean, I am so sorry.” The words felt lame and weak compared to the suffering Dean had experienced. Sam may not have had to make those types of choices himself but he’d dealt with enough people in his line of work to know what desperation would make you do.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner; that you had to find out this way” Dean let out a shuddered breath. “I screwed it up, I blew it, and for that I'm sorry. I guess that's what I do, I let down the people I love.”

Dean turned to Sam then, his eyes bright with pain and searching with desperate fear. He gripped Sam’s bare shoulders, his fingers digging into the soft flesh before cupping his love’s face with one hand.

“But Sam please," he begged, “don't you dare think that there is anything past or present that I would put in front of you. I’m done with that life and I won’t ever go back. I want to move forward, Sam, and I want to do it with you. Please.”

They stood in silence for a long moment. Sam brought his own hands up to caress Dean’s stubbled cheek and fist into Dean’s faded shirt. His eyes taking in every inch of Dean’s face as if burning it into memory beside the others images he held like treasures in his mind.

Sam stood at a precipice, he knew it. This moment would change the path of his life forever; Dean was not asking just for forgiveness, he was asking for forever. Could Sam set aside all of his beliefs about crime and punishment, the law and how to uphold it so he could throw his life into the same grabbag as Dean? Dean - this fascinating, layered and divine creature; the man that brought his body, mind and soul more pleasure and pain than he thought any person could endure. The man that was the other half of his own broken and insecure soul.

“Yes,” Sam whispered, the word as much of a surprise to him as it was to Dean. The relief that poured wetly from Dean’s eyes made him repeat the word, louder and stronger and again.

“Yes!” Sam yelled, “I love you, Dean! Yes!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry again for the long wait. We was way busy with life again. Stupid life. Anyway... home stretch. Hope you guys enjoy the boys making up. I'll admit that we borrowed heavily from the show but nothing we wrote could convey the pain in Dean's heart from being a heavy. So kudos to Kripe era writers for all that.
> 
> Love you all lots and lots and thank you for the feed back, patience and kudos. Muuuuuuuah!!
> 
> A


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Finally finished! We humbly apologize for how long this took to complete, life kind of made us take a backseat to this story for a little while unfortunately. We hope this last chapter was worth the wait. Thank you so very much for being so patient and supportive of us through this whole process. You guys are the best readers we could have ever asked for!   
> So without further ado, please enjoy this last chapter as well as a collection of the fan art that was created for this story, which will be shown at the end.   
> Love and Hugs,   
> Lopsided Whiskey Grin and Almost Super Who Fan

Dean stood rooted to his spot, his pulse picking up speed when he heard Sam whisper that small, three letter word that sounded so redeemingly sweet. _Yes_.

And then Sam said it again, making Dean happier than he ever dreamed possible. Yes!” Sam yelled, “I love you, Dean! Yes!”

Hope and relief and unabashed adoration immediately filled Dean's chest to a near-breathless tightness with those words. He could hardly believe his own ears.

"Really?" he asked, wiping at the wetness suddenly tracking down his face, because he still could not believe that he had heard correctly.

"Yes," Sam said again, but softer this time. He stepped closer to Dean until there was no space between them, bringing his large hand up slowly to cup Dean's stubbled cheek. Dean turned into the touch. "I was a goddamn idiot to think I could just walk away from this. From _us_. You mean too much to me, Dean."

Dean's heart leapt up into his throat and he swallowed hard. This was real. This was really fucking _real_. Sam was accepting what Dean had never offered to anyone else before: the promise of forever. And it made Dean happier than he'd ever been, happier than he had any _right_ to be; It almost seemed like it was more than he deserved.

He lightly wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist where his hand still cupped Dean's cheek, and pressed a soft kiss to Sam's palm. He heard Sam suck in a sharp breath and smiled against the whorls and grooves between the life line and love line etched in his skin before brushing his lips across his palm again. Sam's hand began trembling against Dean's mouth and Dean pulled back just enough that he could look up into Sam's eyes.

"You have no idea how happy you just made me, Sammy, how happy you _always_ make me." He moved his lips to just a hair's breadth away from Sam's palm, just close enough that he could inhale the sweet scent of Sam's skin. "And if you let me, I want to spend the rest of my life showing you."

Sam's beautiful eyes brightened with hope and unshed tears and his throat worked visibly as he swallowed. "What are you trying to say, Dean?"

Dean stilled for a moment, his heart thundering joyfully in his chest, and he looked to Sam's ring finger on the left hand held mere inches from his mouth before locking his gaze with Sam's again. "Move in with me, Sammy," he said, softly brushing his lips over the pads of Sam's fingers, "I love you too damn much for you to ever be so far away from me."

A trembling smile crept up to Sam's lips. "You really thought you had to ask?" he said with a watery laugh. "Of course, Dean!"

And then Dean suddenly found himself being swept into Sam's arms for a tight embrace before he could even mutter out a sob of joy. Relief and surreal happiness made Dean’s head swim as Sam planted feverish kisses to his suddenly wet cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll follow you to hell and back,” Sam whispered, his voice rattling with unshed tears of his own, his throat tight.

“Stay,” Dean whispered back, the sudden urgency giving way to a heavier emotion, a need beyond the physical. “Stay tonight… with me.”

With his eyes closed, Dean felt Sam’s nod of agreement and let out a sigh, his heart finally slowing as peace spread through him. Holding hands, they moved through the kitchen and then the main living space turning off lights and closing up the house. The storm had given way to a soft patter against the windows that would accompany their long awaited lovemaking tonight. _Right as rain,_ Dean thought as he closed the bedroom door behind them.

There was no question for them as Sam eased out of his slacks, eyes watching Dean pulling at his own clothing. Sam was taking back what was his, not to punish or humiliate but to remember the euphoria and pride of having Dean give in to him and trust him by allowing Sam to worship him. And for Dean, he wanted to wallow in the ecstasy and serenity of letting go and giving his body to the boy-turned-man who already owned his heart and soul.

They stood naked and watching each other, their playing field finally equal. No more secrets. No more lies. No more doubts.

With shaking hands, Dean reached out for Sam, tugging him close and savoring Sam’s heated skin pressing against his. Bowing his back just so, Sam settled his head on Dean’s shoulder, another deep sigh escaping and rolling over Dean’s skin. Bodies molded together like clay figures, Dean forgot where he ended and Sam began and he trailed fingertips down Sam’s strong back and over the swell of his bottom.

Sam too felt the need to indulge, his palms massaging the full muscles of Dean’s upper arms and shoulders, the thickness bunching under his touch both soothing and arousing. How could he have forced himself away from this? From the radiance that was all Dean, a beauty that was transcended only by his strength of will? Dean was a whole man and a man that Sam aspired to be too.

“Look at us, Sam,” Dean’s gruff voice commanded. Sam pulled back just enough to see what Dean was seeing, turning his head toward the far wall.

Staring back at him was their reflection in the mirror on the dresser, their bodies intertwined and yet forever not close enough. He gasped at the sight and turned back to Dean, earning a chuckle as his brows came together for a moment in both confusion and reverence.

In all the times he’d laid Dean out for himself, Dean’s hard dick red and waiting for his kisses or Dean’s ass spread wide and dripping his cum, Sam had always seen it was _Him_ and not _Them_. He’d burned the images into his memory each time and placed Dean and his perfection on a pedestal to be worshipped in gut wrenching orgasms, even as his anger kept him away.

Now he saw _Them_. He saw his own long and lean body turned partly away from the mirror, a line of muscle and skin and heat pressed solidly against an equally long and lean line. Sam felt the delicate arousal of their too-heavy emotion burst into the hot lava instantly as he watched Dean’s reflection curl away and over to sink his teeth into Sam’s own reflection’s nipple. The sensation and the vision paired killed him for a moment making him gasp his way through the red gauze of desire.

“That’s my boy,” Dean rasped with a smile against Sam's puckering skin. It was always there lurking, that wild thing Dean loved so well, and now that he had Sam back he wanted, _needed,_ to see that wild thing again; he knew the mirror would draw it out.

Latching back onto the dusky, hardened nub of Sam's nipple, Dean saw in their reflection as Sam closed his eyes against the pleasure of Dean's tongue.

Pulling off with a deep swallow, Dean urged his love again, "Look, Sammy."

Sam opened his eyes with a shudder, turning his head toward the mirror. His lips were parted on a trembling exhale and his cheeks were ruddy with arousal. The unabashed beauty of the man standing with him in the reflection made Dean feel dizzy with desire. His knees buckled slightly and he tightened his grip where his hands rested on Sam's narrow hips as he let himself drop to the floor, eyes watching Sam watch him in the mirror.

Dean took a deep pull of Sam’s musk as he buried his face in the crook of Sam’s thigh, closing his eyes and praying that Sam would watch his caressing mouth lave over the hot skin. He felt Sam’s hand gently stroke his head as he widened his stance to Dean’s moist bites and he hummed his approval. He nibbled at the wrinkled flesh of Sam’s sac below his hard cock, taking each globe into his mouth in turn before pressing his nose hard between the two orbs and against tight muscle behind them. Sam let out a moan that Dean could feel rumble through the taller man’s entire body as the pressure built on his prostate from the outside.

Dean had to look up then and see… see that Sam was watching and enjoying the vision of his own body on display. And he was. By god, he was enthralled. Sam’s eyes were dark now and half hidden behind shaggy bangs but still shining like a feral animal caught in a flashlight. Eyes locked, Sam watched Dean watch Sam as Dean’s swollen pink mouth closed over the head of Sam’s almost red cock, the younger man’s mouth finally falling slack with pleasure.

Dean closed his eyes again, intent on his work but Sam was riveted. His eyes gorged themselves on every inch of naked flesh moving in the mirror. Dean’s neck and freckled shoulders flexed from his movements up and down with the occasional swish left or right. His own hips jerked as Dean’s teeth grazed his shaft and he felt a pulse of precome drip out at the sight. Dean’s hips jumped in time to his suckling and Sam was mesmerized by the sway and bounce of that beautiful rose colored member curving proudly between his thighs.

Dean was right to bid him watch -- they were breathtaking. The sight of them moving in that graceful give and take, the feeling of Dean’s tongue and lips and throat swallowing him down, the sound of Dean’s soft hums and slurps drifting up to him, nearly undid him then and there. He threaded his fingers into Dean’s hair, guiding his head to move faster, edging ever closer to completion.

His whole body tightened in response to all the stimulation and the urge to come coiled heavy and deep in his gut. But then Dean was pulling back, his work-rough hands kneading into the muscles of Sam’s ass as his mouth slid off Sam’s cock. Sam let out a moan of desperation, looking away from their reflection when he saw Dean staring up at him and gasped when his eyes took in the beauty of the man kneeling before him. Twin blooms of red smudged the apples of Dean’s cheeks and his lips were glistening and slick with spit and Sam’s own precome. His eyes were dark with desire and glinting with something almost dangerous that sent a thrill of arousal shooting straight through him in a jagged and overwhelming stripe.

“I want you to take me, Sammy,” Dean rasped, looking up at Sam in a way that seemed to rip him apart from the inside out. “I want you to take me back in every damn way possible.”

Sam swallowed thickly and nodded, releasing his fingers from Dean’s hair and reaching down to gently guide him back to his feet. But instead of accepting Sam’s hand, Dean shook his head.

"I don't want soft and I don't want slow," he said. "I need to feel this like the way it was. I need to know that it still feels the same, that _you_ feel the same.”

Sam faltered for a moment, his brows drawing together with slight uncertainty. “Dean, I _do_ feel the same,” he promised. If Dean was asking if he wanted this as much or if he wondered Sam thought differently of him because of what they had been through,  then Sam wanted to assure him that he had absolutely _nothing_ to worry about. Ever.

But then Dean surprised him, like he always did, by reigniting that dark, feral passion hidden so deep inside him with a blind-siding ferocity that knocked the air straight from his lungs. “I haven’t touched myself since you left, Sammy,” Dean said, gaining his feet slowly, coming up in front of Sam and deliberately brushing first his chest, then his belly, then his own straining cock against Sam’s where it curved up, aching and desperate, toward his stomach.

“What?” Sam asked numbly. Possessive arousal was beginning to blot out all coherent and rational thought in a vibrant red mist in his mind.

Dean deliberately pressed the hard lines and edges of his body against Sam’s, leaning forward enough that he could bring his lips up to caress the soft shell of Sam’s ear. He needed Sam unhinged, out of control and emotionally free; no holding back now.

“No one’s touched this dick since you’ve been gone, Sammy, not even my own goddamn hand," he whispered hoarsely, his humid breath sending shivers racing through Sam's entire body. "And I want to know, _I want you to show me,_ that you still feel the same... _inside me."_

A low, rumbling growl suddenly reverberated through the bedroom and if Sam had any presence of mind left he would have realized it had come from him. But he was too far gone. Dean's words had completely shut him down. All that was left of him was his most basic desires: _take_ and _claim._

Dean had thought he'd be ready for it, but the switchover from boyish, uncertain Sammy to wild, untamed Sam happened so fast it caught him off guard. He hardly had a chance to gasp in a breath before he found himself being bent over the hip high dresser beside them and brought only inches from his own reflection. He looked up past his shoulder to see Sam's lips curve up in a feral and hungry smile.

And then Sam disappeared, falling to his knees behind Dean with a loud thud. Dean's heart spasmed in anticipation and he looked back to his reflection, watching as his face blurred under a fogging huff of breath. Sam's large hands came up then, laying dual slaps to both cheeks of his ass.

"Spread 'em," Sam commanded.

Dean immediately complied, shuffling his legs apart, his cock beginning to throb and leak copiously where it was pinned between his belly and the dresser. He let out a shaky groan that melted into a whine when Sam's hands spread him open and lathed a hot, wet stripe with his tongue from the back of Dean's balls to his perineum to his asshole.

The world condensed down into thousands of tiny pinpricks of light and Dean arched his back further into the sensation as Sam's tongue continued its filthy journey up his crack to the base of his spine then back down. Crying out in shocked ecstasy, Dean clawed for purchase on the dresser top when Sam's tongue suddenly speared into him deeply.

Sam made a muffled hum of approval against Dean's tight and clenching hole and the vibrations across Dean's trembling skin sent him spiraling to the very edge of completion. But Sam must have sensed how close Dean was because he suddenly tugged his tongue from Dean's loosening pucker and laid a ringing slap to his left ass cheek.

"Not yet," Sam commanded. "We're doing this together, Dean. You wanted me to show you it felt the same and that's what I'm gonna do. You're not coming until I do. Understand?"

Dean nodded vigorously and looked over his reflection’s shoulder, trying to see Sam but could only see the top of his shaggy head. Another spank stung across his skin and he suddenly saw Sam's beautiful hazel eyes shrouded in dark, possessive desire peek over the bare curve of his ass and lock his gaze with Dean's in the mirror.

"Understand?" he asked again, louder. 

"Yes," Dean shouted. "God, _yes_!"

And then he was gone again, disappearing from Dean's view. But what Dean couldn't see, he could feel, jesus fucking christ could he ever.  Sam's hands were spreading his cheeks apart again, his long thumbs prying into the quivering edges of Dean's rim, stretching him open wide. And then came Sam's tongue, thick and hot, spearing past that first resistant ring of muscle, licking deep inside, teasing and tasting Dean's inner walls.

Dean bucked against the dresser with a gasp, blinding white pleasure searing across his overwrought nerve endings. It was too much, too goddamn _much_ \-- after losing Sam, Dean didn't think he'd ever experience these feelings again. He was trying to relish in the excruciatingly exquisite sensations but he couldn't seem to concentrate on any one thing in particular; he was on the very edge of shattering to pieces. But Sam was unrelenting, punching his tongue inside Dean as deeply as he could.

Dean keened loudly, shaking and panting on the dresser. "I can't!" he cried. "Goddammit, Sam, please! I need you to fill me up! I need to feel you inside me!"

Sam gave one last lingering swipe of his tongue then sat back slightly on his haunches, mopping up his mouth with the back of his fist and admiring his handy work. Dean's asshole looked like literal perfection. Gleaming and slick in the low light, it gaped open, shuddering and winking with each breath Dean sucked in. It beckoned to him, looking like such a warm, soft place to plunge his cock into.

Biting back a moan, Sam wrapped a hand around the base of his dick to stave off his own orgasm at least until he was buried balls deep in that beautiful hole and pushed to his feet.

“'I'm gonna make this ass mine again,” Sam husked, laying one steadying hand on Dean's hip while the other lined his cock right against Dean's asshole.

Dean grunted and wriggled enticingly on the dresser. “It's always _been_ yours, Sammy.”

Sam locked his eyes with Dean's in the mirror.  “Damn right. But I want you to hear me say it.”

Letting go of the stranglehold he had around the base of his dick, Sam brought his hand up and spat a thick wad of saliva into his palm then proceeded to use it to slick up his shaft. Without much preamble or warning he slowly began pushing inside Dean, watching in fascination as his cock disappeared inch by inch past his stretched, slick rim. _So fucking tight,_ he thought to himself, barely biting back a groan. _Christ_ , _I should have spent more time prepping him._

A frustrated growl suddenly filled the room and Dean's eyes, desperate and hungry, met Sam's in the mirror. “What part of “I don’t want slow” did you not understand?” Dean huffed. “I _need_ it, Sammy. Just fucking give it to me already.”

Sam felt his chest clench at Dean’s demand, the other man’s need to be owned again calling to Sam and his possesive devotion. It was like Dean wanted Sam to hurt him - _hurt him -_ not just take him. Dean wanted this, he _needed it._ And, if that's what Dean wanted, how could Sam deny the love of his life that kind of demand?

Latching both hands onto Dean’s hips with a feral roar, Sam pushed forward roughly, his bare feet slipping back momentarily on the carpet from the sheer force of that first initial thrust. Fire seared through his veins, threatening to consume him when he bottomed out completely.

Dean cried out an incoherent and hoarse string of words, his back bowing beautifully before Sam, and he brought his fist down on the dresser top hard enough to rattle the mirror. The reflection of his face shivered with the resulting vibrations but Sam could still see the contorted expression of pleasure-pain etched across Dean’s features. It only made him want to give Dean more, make him feel it deeper. He wanted to show him that it _did_ feel the same, that their time apart could, and would, bring them closer. But above all that, Sam wanted to show Dean that they belonged to each other now. He was Dean’s and Dean was his. Forever.

Pulling his cock out halfway, Sam squeezed Dean’s skin in a punishing grip. “Mine,” he barked, slamming back in all the way.

_All I want is you, Sammy. That's it. That's all._

He could hear Dean suck in a sharp breath and before he let it out, Sam did it again. Pulling out and plowing forward, he said, softer, “Mine.”

Dean released his breath with a loud, ragged whoosh, arching his back more to pull Sam deeper. “‘M’ all yours, baby boy,” he said, his voice breaking.

_“Don’t leave me, Sammy.”_

_“I won’t, Dean.”_

A different word slipped passed Sam’s lips as he plunged forward again, skin slapping skin but with less force. A whispered “Sorry” that Dean missed in his pleasure induced haze. Sam ran his hands up Dean’s back and latched onto his shoulders, the tips of his fingers turning white from his grip, suddenly overtaken by his need to hold him as much as take him. Pumping twice more, the guilty words slipped out again, slightly louder with each escape.

“I’m sorry,” Sam sobbed, not realizing he was crying even as his body tightened in anticipation of orgasm. He pulled Dean up, wrapping his arms around his chest, a large hand caressing Dean’s throat.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam wailed again, his forehead pressed to Dean’s back. How could he have done this to them? How could he have tried to walk away from something so beautiful?

Dean let out his own cry of ecstasy as this new angle hit just right, reaching behind with one hand to clutch at Sam’s hair, the other engulfing his own hard dick. He could feel the wetness of Sam’s tears trickling down his back but he just let it ride; if this was how Sam needed to release those emotions then Dean would carry him through them.

“Please, Dean,” Sam moaned, his control slipping, his completion so near. “Please. I’m so sorry!”

Dean clenched his teeth, grunting, pleasure erupting over his fist in white hot ropes. He felt the same heat inside as Sam came as well, his hips stuttering an inconsistent rhythm as his desire cooled to smoldering ashes.

Sam slumped to the floor, pulling Dean with him, never looking at him as he hid his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, pleas for forgiveness rolling off his tongue like a bubbling fountain.

“I was scared, Dean, just scared and selfish. I treated you so … just so much… like a criminal!”

“Hey, hey,” Dean tugged at Sam’s face, needing to see those colorless colorful eyes again.

Sam shook away from Dean’s comforting touch and covered his face with his own hands, shame making him shy now. “I promised you that I wouldn’t leave you. I _promised_ , Dean.” He took a deep, shaky breath before continuing, the reality of his own guilt finally breaking the surface in sobs. “I left at the first sign of trouble. You were so right to lie to me. You were right that I wouldn’t want you. I was so wrong. Just so fucking _wrong_.”

“Sam, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here,” Dean soothed, running a hand over Sam’s bare back. “I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not gonna leave you.” He smiled at the irony of that statement as he pulled Sam’s hands away. “We’re in this together now, Sammy. I love you.”

Sam brought his eyes to Dean’s slowly. They shimmered in the low light and it lent to them an even deeper blue and hazel green. Dean knew he would look at those eyes everyday for the rest of his life and their striking color would still never fail to take his breath away. “I love you too, Dean,” Sam breathed out hoarsely, his voice breaking. “When you’re with me, I’m whole.”

Those words were an echo of the ones Sam had spoken on that night when everything had changed, but they still rang as true and pure in Dean’s heart as they had then, even more so now. Because just as Dean was the other part of Sam that made him whole, then Sam was the other part of _him_ that did the same. Their souls were intertwined, connected, in a way that could never be undone. After all they had been through, after all the trials they had faced and would undoubtedly face in the future, they had each other, and that would always be so much more than enough.  

So there on the bedroom floor, Dean rocked a sobbing and penitent Sammy until the sobs dwindled into hiccups and into sighs. He spent that time cooing and whispering with all the tenderness he knew Sam needed, knowing his place at Sam’s side was finally secured. He would spend the rest of his life taking care of this man like he was his pain-in-the-ass little brother and that home was wherever Sam lived. And in the end, if there was really a heaven, he knew they would share it, because no higher power, not even God Himself, would be strong enough to keep them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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